BEECH  WOOD. 


BEECH  WOOD. 


BY 


REBECCA  RUTER  SPRINGER. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   &   CO. 

1873- 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


LIPPI NCOTT' s    PRESS, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


TO 

THE    KIND   HUSBAND 

WHO   HAS   EVER   ENCOURAGED  AND  AIDED   ME   IN   THIS   AS   IN 
ALL    OF    MY    LITERARY    EFFORTS, 

AND 

THE   LITTLE   SON 

WHOSE  SUNNY   HEAD   FLITS   EVER   ABOUT   MY   CHAIR, 
ALL    THAT    IS    WORTHY    AND    ALL    THAT    IS    BEAUTIFUL    IN 


JJ 


[olnmc 
IS    LOVINGLY     INSCRIBED. 


2073035 


PREFACE. 


WITH  many  hopes,  and  some  misgivings,  I  start  my  little 
bark  adrift  upon  the  great  sea  of  literature,  feeling  that 
some  besides  myself  will  watch  its  course  with  wistful 
eyes  and  prayerful  hearts.  It  may  be  that,  driven  hither 
and  thither  by  adverse  winds,  it  will  soon  be  engulfed 
in  the  waves,  and  so  lost  forever ;  or,  being  met  by  a  favor- 
ing gale,  it  may  be  borne  gently  onward  to  a  shore  rich 
with  luxuriant  fields  of  waving  grain.  Whatever  of  golden 
sheaves,  be  they  few  or  many,  it  may  bring  to  me,  shall  be 
religiously  devoted  to  the  good  of  others,  that  in  the  great 
hereafter  it  may  be  said  of  me,  as  once  it  was  said  of 
another,  "She  hath  done  what  she  could." 

THE  AUTHOR. 


(Tii) 


BEECHWOOD. 


May  12,  1 8-^.  To-day  is  my  fifteenth  birthday,  and  I 
have  resolved,  among  many  other  things,  that  I  will  keep 
a  journal, — a  plain  record  of  my  life  from  day  to  day.  I 
told  mamma  about  it  a  little  while  ago,  and  she  said  she 
thought  it  a  very  good  idea,  as  it  would  improve  my  hand- 
writing, and  also  teach  me  to  express  my  thoughts  more 
readily.  She  gave  me  this  nice  little  blank-book  to  use  for 
that  purpose,  so  that  I  would  have  an  inducement,  she  said, 
to  keep  my  diary  neat  and  clean.  I  have  the  very  best 
mother  in  the  world.7'  She  never  laughs  at  anything  I  tell 
her, — anything  that  is  in  sober  earnest,  I  mean, — no  matter 
how  ridiculous  it  may  seem,  because,  I  suppose,  she  knows 
it  makes  me  feel  badly ;  and  whenever  any  one  else  does 
so  in  her  presence,  she  says,  so  sweetly,  "Never  mind, 
Nannie;  they  were  once  little,  just  like  yourself,  and,  I 
doubt  not,  said  just  as  many  queer  things."  Ralph,  my 
oldest  brother,  is  a  great  tease ;  but  then,  you  know,  he  is 
a  boy,  and  boys  always  are  such  plagues  !  He  resents  our 
calling  him  a  boy,  however :  he  was  jiiheteen  last  month, 
and  already  has  quite  a  mustache.  He  is  a  real  handsome 
fellow,  too,  though  not  quite  so  good-looking  as  Nettie 
Ray's  brother  Hal,  I  think;  though  Nettie  thinks  him  much 
handsomer. 

Dear  me  !  what  have  I  been  writing?  How  Ralph  would 

(9) 


I0  BEECHWOOD. 

plague  me,  if  he  could  read  this  first  entry  in  my  journal  ! 
He  thinks  Nettie  and  I  are  nothing  but  children ;  while  I 
am  fifteen  to-day,  and  Nettie  will  be  sixteen  in  September. 
I  do  not  suppose  I  have  made  a  very  sensible  entry ;  but 
then,  you  know,  old  book,  this  is  my  first  effort  as  a  jour- 
nalist, and  could  not  be  expected  to  be  perfect.  I  hope  I 
shall  improve  in  time ;  I  mean  to,  for  I  have  made  any 
number  of  good  resolutions  for  the  future  to-day,  all  of 
which  I  meant  to  have  copied  into  my  journal ;  but  I  am 
so  tired,  I  must  stop  for  this  time. 

Well,  who  would  have  thought  I  would  have  written  a 
whole  page  and  a  half  the  very  first  day  ?  That  is  a  pretty 
good  beginning;  although  I  am  very  much  afraid  Ralph 
would  say  there  is  very  little  sense  in  anything  I  have 
written. 

May  13.  Yesterday,  after  I  quit  writing,  I  went  down- 
stairs with  my  sewing,  and  sat  with  mamma.  She  asked  me 
if  I  had  written  in  my  journal  yet.  I  told  her  I  had,  but 
feared  I  had  not  succeeded  very  well.  She  encouraged  me 
very  much  ;  told  me  no  one  could  expect  to  do  a  thing 
just  right  the  first  time ;  to  be  perfectly  simple  and  honest 
in  all  that  I  wrote,  and  never  attempt  to  color  anything 
to  make  it  appear  better  than  it  was  in  reality ;  to  let  my 
diary  be  a  true  record  of  my  life  from  day  to  day,  and  that 
if  I  lived  to  be  a  woman  it  might  some  day  be  a  great  com- 
fort to  me  to  read  it  all  over.  She  told  me,  too,  to  be 
careful  to  record  my  faults  also,  as  then  I  would  be  more 
watchful  over  myself,  so  that  hereafter  I  need  not  be 
ashamed  when  I  reviewed  my  life  as  recorded  on  these 
pages.  Dear  mother!  I  know  too  well  the  fault  she  had 
in  mind  when  she  told  me  that :  my  quick  temper  and 
ungovernable  tongue.  I  d_p  say  such  bitter  things  to  those 
I  love  best  when  I  am  excited, — I  will  not  say  angry,  al- 
though I  am  afraid  sometimes  it  amounts  to  that.  I  am 


BEECHWOOD.  1X 

very  sensitive,  and  often  misconstrue  the  language  and 
actions  of  those  whose  love  I  should  never  doubt.  And  then 
how  terribly  I  suffer  for  it  afterward,  no  one  can  tell.  I 
feel  as  though  I  deserved  to  have  the  earth  open  and  swal- 
low me  up  for  my  sinfulness  and  ingratitude.  Mother  says  I 
will  surely  overcome  it,  if  I  only  watch  myself  closely  and 
pray  earnestly  for  strength  from  above.  I  do  try  so  hard 
to  follow  her  instructions;  but  I  cannot  be  good  like  she  is, 
ever.  I  often  wonder  if  she  ever  has  even  a  wrong  thought, 
she  is  so  mild  and  gentle  always.  Her  reproofs  never  anger 
me,  as  do  those  of  others,  for  she  seems  to  feel  so  sorry 
when  she  has  to  reprove  me ;  and  every  time  I  think  I  will 
be  more  watchful  over  myself,  so  that  she  will  never  have 
to  do  it  again.  But  alas  for  good  resolutions !  they  are 
made  only  to  be  broken  at  the  first  severe  temptation.  It 
was  only  yesterday — upon  my  birthday,  too — that  I  yielded 
to  one  of  these  fitful  moods  in  a  manner  I  shall  not  soon 
forget.  I  was  called  from  the  library  a  moment,  where  I 
had  been  writing  a  letter  to  Aunt  Katie,  and  with  which  I 
had  taken  great  pains,  for  I  was  anxious  she  should  see  how 
hard  I  was  trying  to  improve  myself;  and  when  I  returned 
to  the  room,  after  a  few  minutes'  absence,  Ralph  and 
Charlie  and  little  Kittie  were  there,  but  my  letter  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

"Where  is  my  letter?"  I  said,  trying  to  speak  uncon- 
cernedly as  possible,  for  I  saw  by  the  twinkle  in  Ralph's 
eye  and  his  glance  at  Charlie  that  he  knew  more  of  the 
matter  than  he  chose  to  admit. 

"  Her  letter,  Charlie.  Pray,  mark  the  dignity  with  which 
Miss  Nancy  Cleve  asks  us  for  her  purloined  letter.  What 
an  idea!"  And  he  threw  his  curly  head  back  and  broke 
into  a  hearty  laugh. 

Now,  Ralph  knows  if  there  is  anything  in  this  world  I 
hate,  it  is  to  be  called  "Nancy."  I  often  wish  the  old 


I2  BEECHWOOD. 

aunt,  who  insisted  upon  having  me  named  for  herself,  had 
been  any  place  in  the  world  but  with  mamma  when  I  was 
born.  "Nannie"  I  can  stand  very  well;  but  when  it 
comes  to  Nancy,  as  some  of  the  old  ladies  in  the  neigh- 
borhood will  persist  in  calling  me,  it  annoys  me  greatly. 
Ralph  has  discovered  this  weakness,  and  often  turns  it  to 
good  or  bad  purpose  in  teasing  me.  I  tried  very  hard  not 
to  seem  annoyed,  for  I  remembered  it  was  my  birthday, 
and  said  to  Ralph,  "  Please,  Ralph,  do  give  it  to  me;  I 
want  to  finish  it  before  dinner." 

"  Well,  now,  Nannie,  I  will,"  he  said,  "seeing  you  are 
so  anxious  about  it ;  but  on  one  condition  only.  I  must 
first  read  it  aloud,  for  the  benefit  of  the  company  here 
assembled."  And  the  saucy  fellow  mounted  a  chair  and 
began  : — 

"My  dear  Aunt  Katie  "  ["very  good  indeed,  Nannie,  if 
you  only  had  not  spelled  the  aunt  without  a  u,  which 
suggests  to  one  the  idea  at  once  of  an  ugly  little  insect 
instead  of  our  beautiful  young  relative"],  "as  this  is  my 
fifteenth  birthday"  ["a  very  mature  young  lady;"  and  he 
bowed  to  me  from  his  perch  with  mock  dignity],  "  I 
thought  I  could  not  better  improve  the  time  than  by  writing 
to  you."  ["Watch  her,  Charlie;  I  see  that  she  is  ready  to 
spring,  cat-like,  upon  her  prey,  which,  of  course,  means 
her  innocent  young  brother."]  I  had  really  sprung  to  him 
and  tried  to  catch  the  letter  from  his  hand,  but  he  held  it 
at  arm's  length,  and  continued  :  "I  want  to  tell  you  how 
hard  I  am  trying  to  overcome  my  hasty  temper."  ["Steady, 
Nancy;  try  and  stick  to  your  resolution."] 

But  I  could  endure  no  more,  and  broke  from  him,  ex- 
claiming, "You  are  a  rude,  unmannerly  fellow ;  and  I  would 
rather  have  no  brother  at  all  than  one  whose  only  delight 
is  to  torment  me  so."  And  I  sat  down  upon  the  hearth- 
rug and  sobbed  passionately. 


BEECHWOOD.  !3 

Dear  little  golden-haired  Kittie  crept  to  my  side,  and, 
stealing  her  little  bare  arm  about  my  neck,  she  said, 
tenderly,— 

"Never  mind,  sister  Nannie,  he  won't  be  naughty  any 
more.  Will  you,  brother  Ralph?" 

Ralph  looked  sorry,  but  half  laughed  as  he  threw  the 
letter  into  my  lap  and  said, — 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  such  a  child,  Nannie ;  and  I 
am  sure  you  did  not  mean  what  you  said  last." 

"Yes,  I  did,  and  more  too,"  I  retorted,  angrily,  crush- 
ing the  letter  I  had  penned  with  such  care  in  my  hand,  and 
throwing  it  into  the  grate. 

Ralph  looked  grieved  ;  and  at  that  moment  mamma  en- 
tered the  room.  She  looked  as  though  she  had  heard  all, 
as  she  doubtless  had,  the  library  opening  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

"My  son,"  she  said,  very  quietly,  to  Ralph,  "this  is 
scarcely  the  way  I  had  hoped  you  would  help  Nannie  enjoy 
her  birthday.  You  cannot  surely  have  forgotten  how  earn- 
estly she  tried  to  confer  pleasure  upon  yours." 

I  knew  she  alluded  to  the  care  with  which  I  had  em- 
broidered for  him  a  very  handsome  pair  of  slippers  as  a 
birthday  gift.  The  remembrance,  instead  of  making  me  feel 
more  unkindly  toward  him,  softened  my  heart,  and  I  was 
already  beginning  to  feel  ashamed  of  my  violent  outbreak, 
when  Ralph,  over  whom  mother  has  unlimited  influence, 
as  indeed  she  has  over  every  one  in  the  house,  burst  out 
impulsively, — 

"Indeed  I  have  not!  I  was  a  brute  to  tease  her  so. 
Will  you  forgive  me,  little  sister?" 

His  arm  was  around  me,  and  his  hand  softly  wiping  the 
tears  that  flowed  so  freely,  though  from  a  very  different 
cause  than  those  that  fell  so  hotly  a  few  moments  before. 

"It  is  I  who  should  ask  to  be  forgiven,  dear  Ralph,  for 


I4  BEECHWOOD. 

speaking  to  you  so  bitterly,"  I  whispered,  my  heart  sore 
at  the  remembrance  of  my  hasty  words. 

"Never  mind,  darling;  you  did  not  really  mean  what 
you  said,  did  you?  It  was  all  my  fault  for  teasing  you  so." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  I  sobbed;  and  Ralph,  kissing  me 
tenderly,  said, — 

"I  will  try  never  to  tease  you  again,  dear;  and,  to  show 
you  that  I  did  not  really  mean  to  be  ugly,  let  me  place  this 
where  it  should  have  been  an  hour  ago."  He  drew  from 
his  vest-pocket  a  tiny  package  as  he  spoke,  and,  unrolling 
it,  showed  me  a  beautiful  ring,  with  "Nannie,  from 
Ralph,"  engraven  upon  the  inside,  together  with  the  date, 
and  pressed  it  upon  my  finger.  "I  came  in  here  to  find 
you,  for  this  purpose,  but,  spying  your  letter,  my  evil  genius 
pointed  to  it  as  the  means  for  a  little  fun,  and  I  was  weak 
enough  to  yield  to  his  suggestions." 

My  heart  was  all  broken  up  by  his  kindness,  and  I  could 
only  put  my  arm  about  his  neck,  and  sob  out, — 

"I  will  never  be  ugly  with  you  again,  dear  Ralph." 

"  Nor  I  with  you,  dear  Nannie." 

So  the  compact  was  sealed ;  and  I  will  try  and  live  up  to  it. 

When  we  looked  up,  mother  was  no  longer  in  the  room, 
but  I  knew  at  once  of  what  she  was  thinking  when  she  told 
me  not  to  hide  the  record  of  my  faults.  So  I  have  written 
this  all  out  as  faithfully  as  I  could,  that  whenever  I  look  at 
it  I  shall  remember  the  promise  I  then  made,  to  be  more 
watchful  for  the  future. 

May  14.  To-day  Gertie  and  I  went  over  into  the  south 
meadow  to  look  for  flowers,  and,  not  being  very  successful 
in  our  search,  Gertie  proposed  we  should  go  upon  the  hill- 
side beyond  the  meadow.  To  this  I  was  very  willing  ;  but 
when  we  came  to  the  little  brook  that  winds  like  a  silver 
thread  through  the  grass  and  bushes,  we  found  it  so  swollen 
by  the  recent  rains  as  to  prevent  our  crossing. 


BEECHWOOD.  15 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  Gertie;  "  how  provoking  to  lose 
our  nice  walk,  just  for  the  little  brook !" 

"  But  we  shall  not,"  I  said. 

"  How  can  we  help  it?" 

"Wade !"  was  my  response,  as  I  sat  down  to  unlace  my 
boots. 

"Oh,  Nannie,"  said  timid  Gertie,  "do  you  think  we 
ought  to?" 

"Why  not?" 

"We  are  so  big  !"  She  did  look  so  comical  as  she  said 
this,  with  that  perplexed  look  of  doubt  and  desire  com- 
bined upon  her  face,  that  I  lay  down  in  the  grass  and 
laughed  till  I  cried.  Then  I  said, — 

"  No  one  will  see  us,  sis ;  and  if  they  did,  who  cares  ?" 

Now,  I  am  always,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  getting  Gertie,  as 
well  as  myself,  into  all  manner  of  scrapes,  simply  because 
I  am  so  thoughtless  and  impulsive,  and  she  is  so  easily  led ;  * 
so,  as  usual,  she  said  no  more,  but  sat  down  and  untied  her 
boots  also.  I  said,  "  We  will  put  our  shoes  and  stockings 
in  the  basket,  carry  them  over,  and  slip  them  on  again  on 
the  other  side, — it  will  only  take  a  minute,  you  know." 

Gertie  assented,  and  we  were  soon  laughing  and  talking 
and  wading  into  the  brook.  Now,  if  we  had  gone  straight 
through,  as  we  at  first  intended,  all  would  have  been  well 
enough  ;  but  I  was  ripe  for  a  frolic,  and  so  must  needs  pro- 
pose wading  up  the  stream  a  little  way,  to  look  for  minnows. 

"We  will  leave  the  basket  on  this  log,"  I  said,  "till 
we  come  back. "  So  off  we  went,  splashing  and  laughing, 
and  enjoying  our  frolic  to  the  utmost;  the  pure  cool  water 
rippling  over  our  bare  feet  and  ankles  delightfully.  Just  in 
the  midst  of  our  fun,  we  heard  some  one  whistling ;  and 
whom  should  we  see  coming  over  the  hill  but  Ralph,  gun  in 
hand,  with  half  a  dozen  squirrels  dangling  by  his  side  ! 
Such  a  flutter  as  then  took  place. 


T6  BEECHWOOD. 

"Quick,  Gertie!"  I  whispered,  "stoop  down  behind 
these  bushes,  and  hide.  If  he  sees  us,  he  will  never  have 
done  teasing  us." 

In  our  haste  we  both  slipped,  and  I,  of  course,  sat  down 
somewhat  suddenly  in  the  water.  I  gave  a  little,  smothered 
scream,  and  then  we  both  laughed  till  the  tears  came. 
Whether  Ralph  heard  us  or  not,  he  passed  on,  apparently 
unconscious  of  our  presence,  whistling  "(The  Blue  Bells  of 
Scotland;}'  and  when  we  thought  him  safely  away,  we 
emerged  from  our  hiding-place. 

But  in  a  moment  Gertie  cried,  "  Oh,  Nannie,  he  has 
taken  the  basket  with  our  shoes  and  stockings!"  And 
sure  enough  he  had. 

We  looked  at  one  another  a  moment  in  consternation, 
and  then  began  to  call  Ralph,  somewhat  timidly  at  first, 
but  growing  louder  and  louder  till  we  called  with  all  our 
strength.  But  he  was  perfectly  oblivious,  walking  rapidly 
away,  his  musical  whistle  rising  and  falling  distinctly  upon 
our  ears  after  he  himself  had  disappeared  behind  the 
orchard  fence.  We  sat  down  upon  the  grass  and  looked 
at  each  other,  and  Gertie  was  just  ready  to  cry,  and  I  was 
beginning  seriously  to  wonder  what  mamma  would  say  to 
our  mad  frolic,  and  to  wonder  also  if  I  ever  would  be  any- 
thing but  a  foolish  child,  always  getting  myself  and  Gertie 
into  scrapes  and  never  getting  cleverly  out  of  them,  when 
our  ridiculous  position  broke  on  me  with  such  force  that  I 
burst  out  laughing ;  and  after  a  moment  Gertie  joined  me, 
and  then  we  got  up  without  a  word  and  started  home. 

"Nannie,  what  will  mamma  say?"  said  Gertie,  pres- 
ently. 

This  was  a  damper  again  ;  and  I  looked  somewhat  rue- 
fully at  my  wet  garments,  but  answered,  bravely,  "Nothing 
to  you,  sis ;  and  she  is  used  to  my  short-comings." 

It  was  anything  but  a  pleasant  walk  home  with  our  bare, 


BEECHWOOD.  !7 

tender  feet ;  and  more  than  once  we  stopped  to  examine 
sundry  scratches  and  bruises,  but  finally  reached  the  back- 
door, somewhat  crestfallen  to  find  mamma  waiting  for  us 
with  a  face  that  tried  to  look  serious,  but  smiled  in  spite 
of  itself  as  she  said, — 

"  My  little  girls  are  getting  too  old  to  indulge  in  such 
questionable  frolics.  Go  quickly  and  change  your  clothes  ; 
if  you  have  not  both  taken  cold  I  shall  be  thankful."  And, 
too  glad  of  the  chance,  we  escaped  to  our  room. 

At  tea,  Ralph's  eyes  twinkled  maliciously  as  he  spoke  of 
having  had  rare  sport  hunting ;  but  he  did  not  otherwise 
allude  to  our'  adventure,  for  which  I  felt  very  grateful,  and 
so  I  am  sure  did  Gertie.  For  his  forbearance  in  that  re- 
spect we  can  almost  forgive  him  for  the  trick  he  played  so 
cleverly  upon  us.  It  was  just  like  Ralph,  and  it  is  hard  to 
feel  vexed  9t  anything  he  does. 

May  1 6.  I  did  not  write  in  my  journal  yesterday, 
because  it  was  Sunday;  and  I  went  to  church  so  often  that 
I  had  not  time,  unless  I  had  neglected  my  usual  Sunday 
reading.  Our  Sunday-school  is  in  the  morning  at  nine 
o'clock,  and,  as  it  is  quite  a  walk, — nearly  a  mile, — we  do 
not  return  before  church,  which  is  at  eleven.  We  usually 
stroll  through  the  church-yard  or  sit  under  the  maple-trees 
in  the  grove  opposite  the  church  during  the  short  intermis- 
sion immediately  before  the 'services.  Hal  and  Nettie  Ray 
are  usually  with  us,  which,  of  course,  means  Ralph,  Charlie, 
Gertie,  and  myself,  and  sometimes  little  Kittie.  Hal  thinks 
my  ring  is  very  pretty ;  so  does  Nettie.  Gertie  is  nearly 
an  inch  taller  than  I  am,  although  she  is  nearly  two  years 
younger.  She  was  thirteen  the  3d  of  March.  Every- 
body says  we  never  would  be  taken  for  sisters,  we  are  so 
unlike.  She  is  quite  large  of  her  age  ;  has  black  eyes,  and 
short  curls  of  dark  glossy  hair  all  round  her  head ;  I  think 
her  very  pretty.  My  eyes,  on  the  contrary,  are  gray,  and 


1 8  BEECHWOOD. 

my  hair,  which  I  will  not  let  curl  (curls  are  such  a  bore,  I 
think),  but  gather  into  a  knot  behind,  lies,  Hal  says,  "in 
golden  ripples  all  over  my  head."  But  that  is  all  nonsense, 
of  course. 

They  (Nettie  and  Hal,  I  mean)  had  a  young  cousin 
with  them  yesterday,  who  is  at  present  visiting  them. 
His  name  is  Ellis  Ray,  and  he  seems  to  be  a  very  pleas- 
ant gentleman.  I  should  think  he  was  about  as  old  as 
Ralph,  or  maybe  a  little  older.  He  seemed  greatly  pleased 
with  Gertie.  I  heard  him  tell  Hal  she  had  the  finest 
head  he  ever  saw.  She  did  look  very  pretty  yesterday, 
indeed :  she  wore  her  blue  muslin,  which  is  very  delicate 
and  of  that  peculiar  shade  of  blue  that  is  so  becoming 
to  a  brunette,  and  indeed  the  only  one  that  she  can  wear ; 
and  she  and  Kittie  had  been  having  a  run  down  to  the 
spring  back  of  the  church,  which  stands  upon  a  beautiful 
green  lawn  sloping  from  it  on  every  side  but  one,  and  that 
is  the  front ;  and  when  she  came  up  to  us  her  face  was 
slightly  flushed  with  the  exercise,  and  her  moist  hair  lay  in 
innumerable  rings  around  her  head, — every  hair  that  could 
escape  making  a  separate  little  curl  of  its  own.  She 
looked  very  beautiful  as  she  came  toward  us  swinging  her 
hat  carelessly  in  her  hand  and  chatting  merrily  with  Kittie, 
and  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  the  admiration  she  excited 
or  the  remark  it  called  forth  from  young  Mr.  Ray.  Gertie 
is  so  innocent  too, — she  is  really  the  innocent  child  she 
seems,  and  so  much  like  mother  that  every  one  must  love 
her.  Mr.  Ray  seemed  to  think  Kittie  was  very  pretty  too, 
and  kept  her  on  his  knee  nearly  all  the  intermission.  Nettie 
says  he  is  studying  for  the  ministry.  He  is  going  to  spend 
the  greater  part  of  his  college  vacation  with  them. 

Father  White  gave  us  a  most  beautiful  and  touching 
sermon  from  the  text,  "  Forgive  us  our  debts,  as  we  forgive 
our  debtors." 


BEECHWOOD.  !9 

I  never  understood  so  forcibly  the  meaning  of  those 
words  as  when  I  yesterday  heard  them  explained  by  that 
good  old  man.  I  felt  as  though  I  never  again  could  dare 
to  repeat  that  beautiful  prayer,  that  I  learned  when  a  little 
child  at  my  mother's  knee,  until  I  had  first  looked  closely 
into  my  heart  to  see  if  I  had  any  wrong  thoughts  therein 
toward  another.  He  warned  us,  so  solemnly,  to  be  care- 
ful how  we  passed  hasty  judgment  upon  others ;  showing 
us  how  much  better  it  is  to  judge  charitably,  even  though 
we  should  sometimes  be  deceived,  than,  by  judging  harshly, 
to  wrong  and  wound  one  innocent  person.  He  said  we 
are  too  apt  to  attach  undue  importance  to  trifles;  to  let 
a  thoughtless  word  or  act  outweigh  hundreds  of  a  contrary 
nature,  and  that,  too,  when  the  word  may  have  been  inno- 
cently spoken,  or  the  act  unwittingly  done. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  of  poor  Mary  Black,  who  lost 
her  situation  as  seamstress  in  Mrs.  Wood's  family,  and  well- 
nigh  lost  her  reputation  for  life,  by  stealing  out  at  night, 
alone,  to  meet  her  worthless  brother  and  give  him  her  earn- 
ings. The  only  one  who  really  knew  the  true  circumstances, 
and  could  have  set  poor  Mary  right  before  the  world,  was 
a  girl  in  the  same  house,  who,  through  envy,  kept  silent, 
and  let  her  traducers  say  the  worst  of  her ;  so  that  she  lost 
her  situation,  and  for  a  time  her  character  in  the  commu- 
nity, although  her  life  had  up  to  that  time  been  blame- 
less. Almost  every  one  believed  the  evil  of  her,  and  forgot 
all  her  former  goodness  ;  and  but  for  the  illness  and  death 
of  her  brother  she  might  to-day  have  been  a  blighted  and 
heart-broken  woman, — innocent  before  God,  despised 
among  men.  Upon  his  death-bed  her  brother  told  of  his 
own  worthlessness  and  her  devotion,  thus  giving  her  the 
character  almost  of  an  angel,  instead  of  that  of  a  depraved 
woman. 

Ah,  how  lenient  we  should  be  in  our  judgments  of  those 


20  BEECHWOOD. 

around  us!  "Therefore  thou  art  inexcusable,  O  man, 
whosoever  thou  art  that  judgest :  for  wherein  thou  judgest 
another,  thou  condemnest  thyself;  for  thou  that  judgest 
doest  the  same  things." 

We  read  these  words  day  by  day,  yet  dare  defiantly  to 
set  their  authority  aside  and  pursue  the  promptings  of  our 
own  sinful  hearts,  thus  plainly  saying  by  our  conduct,  what 
we  dare  not  assert  with  our  lips,  "  Stand  aside,  for  I  am 
holier  than  thou  !"  May  God  forgive  and  help  us! 

May  20.  Yesterday  mamma  told  me  that  our  new  gov- 
erness would  be  here  to-morrow.  How  I  do  dread  to  see 
her  !  I  know  I  shall  not  like  her.  It  nearly  broke  my 
heart  to  have  dear  Miss  Reid  go  away,  for  she  has  been 
with  us  ever  since  I  was  eight  years  old,  and  I  know  I  shall 
never  love  any  one  half  so  well  again.  She  disliked  to  go 
very  much,  but  her  mother's  health  was  so  frail  she  was 
obliged  to  go  to  her.  Mamma  says  I  must  not  allow  my- 
self to  become  prejudiced  against  Miss  Lane,  our  new  gov- 
erness, just  because  I  loved  Miss  Reid  so  dearly;  and  Gertie 
says  she  means  to  love  her  if  possible.  It  is  very  easy  for 
mamma  and  Gertie  to  feel  thus,  because  they  are  always 
good, — but  poor  willful  me !  No  wonder  I  dread  the 
change,  for  I  am  always  getting  myself  into  trouble  with 
some  one ;  and  I  know  Miss  Lane  will  never  bear  with  my 
impatient  moods  as  did  dear  Miss  Reid. 

Uncle  Ralph  came  yesterday  again.  He  comes  to  see 
us  every  week,  and  sometimes  much  oftener,  for  he  lives  in 
the  village,  which  is  only  three  miles  away.  He  is  so 
handsome,  and  so  good,  and  such  a  favorite  with  all  the 
ladies.  Mamma  is  very  proud  of  him.  She  thinks  any- 
thing Uncle  Ralph  does  is  sure  to  be  right.  He  is  not  our 
"sure-enough  uncle,"  as  little  Kittie  says,  although  he  is 
just  the  same  to  us  as  though  he  were.  His  mother,  who 
was  a  widow,  married  Grandfather  Clifford  when  Uncle 


BEECHWOOD.  21 

Ralph  was  only  five  years  old  and  mamma  was  eleven. 
Mamma  says  she  remembers  so  well  the  first  time  she  ever 
saw  him ;  upon  the  day  grandfather  brought  them  home. 
She  says  he  was  a  beautiful  little  boy,  with  a  head  very 
much  like  Gertie's  is  now.  Grandfather  always  loved  him 
as  his  own  child,  adopted  him  and  gave  him  his  name,  and 
I  think,  if  there  is  any  difference,  mamma  and  Aunt  Katie 
love  him  better  than  Uncle  Ben  even,  who  is  their  own 
brother,  but  who  lives  hundreds  of  miles  away  from  us. 
He  is  very  indulgent  to  us  children,  and  since  dear  papa's 
death,  which  is  now  nearly  five  years  ago,  has  taken  all 
mamma's  business  into  his  own  hands.  I  often  wonder  he 
has  never  married.  He  is  six  years  younger  than  mamma, 
— who  is  just  thirty-eight, — so  he  is  getting  to  be  quite  an 
old  bachelor  by  this  time.  I  mean  to  ask  him,  some  time, 
why  he  does  not  get  married.  I  know  almost  just  what  he 
will  answer.  He  will  pull  my  ear  and  say,  "  How  do  I 
know,  pussy,  whether  any  one  will  have  me  or  not?"  But 
I  know  there  are  few  ladies  could  resist  Uncle  Ralph,  if  he 
once  tried  to  please  them.  He  laughs  heartily  at  my  deter- 
mination not  to  like  Miss  Lane.  He  says  he  is  quite  sure 
I  will,  for  he  has  met  her  and  she  is  a  perfect  lady.  I  told 
him  that  Ralph  told  me  she  was  an  old  maid,  who  wore 
glasses  and  false  hair,  and  never  allowed  herself  to  smile 
upon  any  condition  whatever.  He  seemed  greatly  amused, 
but  only  said  Ralph  was  a  sad  tease.  I  could  not  get  him 
to  describe  her,  so  I  must  school  my  impatience  till  to- 
morrow ;  but  I  am  a  good  deal  more  than  half  inclined  to 
think  Ralph  told  me  the  truth,  and  I  sometimes  almost 
hope  he  did,  so  that  I  may  have  a  good  excuse  for  not 
liking  her. 

June  1 2.  Miss  Lane  has  been  here  two  weeks,  and  when 
I  read  the  last  entry  in  my  journal  I  feel  like  cutting  it  out 
and  destroying  it.  I  would  surely  do  so  if  I  had  not 

3 


22  BEECHWOOD. 

promised  mamma  never  to  mutilate  my  journal.  How  I 
should  dislike  to  have  Miss  Lane  read  it !  The  first  evening 
she  came,  I  felt  so  condemned  and  ashamed  I  could  hardly 
talk  with  her.  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  better  describe  her 
than  by  using  Uncle  Ralph's  words,  "She  is  a  perfect 
lady."  She  is  not  beautiful,  rather  plain-looking  than 
otherwise ;  has  soft  brown  eyes  and  hair, — the  latter  of 
which  she  brushes  back  plainly  from  her  forehead  and 
wears  in  a  heavy  coil  at  the  back  of  her  head.  She  is 
small,  not  much  taller  than  I  am,  and  dresses  in  black,  for 
her  mother,  who  is  recently  dead.  She  seems  quite  young, 
though  I  cannot  quite  determine  her  age.  She  is  very  quiet 
and  gentle,  but  I  would  as  soon  think  of  facing  a  whole 
regiment  of  soldiers  as  going  contrary  to  her  wishes,  when 
she  looks  me  so  firmly  in  the  eyes  and  says,  "You  will,  if 
you  please,  do  thus  or  so."  Out  of  study-hours  she  is 
always  ready  to  yield  to  our  wishes  in  anything  reasona- 
ble; but  in  the  school-room  her  word  is  law,  most  em- 
phatically. I  like  her  all  the  better  for  that,  and  so  does 
Gertie,  I  am  sure.  We  are  all  going  over  into  the  grove, 
this  evening,  to  gather  flowers  :  so  my  entry  is  brief. 

July  24.  I  am  afraid  I  should  never  make  a  daily  jour- 
nalist,— there  are  so  many  trifles  that  keep  me  from  writing. 
Here  it  is  six  weeks  since  I  have  made  a  single  entry. 
First,  the  weather  is  quite  warm,  which  makes  one  naturally 
indolent ;  but  that,  I  strongly  suspect,  mamma  would  say 
is  no  excuse  at  all.  Then  it  is  a  canter  on  the  ponies, 
or  a  romp  through  the  woods;  or  an  interesting  book;  or 
to  dress  Kittie's  doll,  or  mend  her  wagon  for- her;  and  a 
dozen  other  things,  all  trivial,  but  all  demanding  time  ; 
and  so  the  diary  is  neglected.  Well,  to-day  it  is  raining, — 
a  dull,  steady,  quiet,  rainy  day ;  just  such  a  one  as  every 
one  loves,  now  and  then,  to  have  upon  us,  when  the  musi- 
cal patter  of  the  drops  upon  the  roof,  and  through  the 


BEECHWOOD. 


23 


thirsty  leaves,  soothes  and  quiets  the  restless  soul  and  pre- 
pares it  for  retrospection  and  reflection.  We  only  study 
two  hours  a  day  through  the  very  warm  weather,  so  I  have 
a  long  day  yet  before  me.  Miss  Lane  and  Gertie  are  in 
the  library,  playing  chess ;  and  I  have  resolved  to  devote 
the  day  to  "writing  up"  my  journal,  as  Ralph  would  call 
it.  Several  things  of  interest  have  occurred  since  I  last 
wrote ;  some  of  which  I  would  rather  not  record,  but  for 
my  resolution  never  to  screen  myself. 

About  two  weeks  ago,  one  sultry  morning,  in  the  school- 
room, I  allowed  my  hasty  temper  to  gain  the  advantage  of 
me,  in  a  manner  very  humiliating  to  remember. 

I  detest  algebra.  It  is  one  of  the  few  studies  that  I  can- 
not easily  master.  The  "unknown  quantity"  confuses 
me;  and  it  is  only  by  the  closest  application  and  most 
careful  study  that  I  can  master  it  at  all.  It  always  annoys 
me  to  go  to  a  recitation  without  a  perfect  lesson  ;  for  I  will 
not  stand  second-best  in  any  class.  Nettie  Ray  comes  over 
and  recites  with  Gertie  and  myself  to  Miss  Lane,  and  of 
course  we  are  all  ambitious  to  excel.  Well,  upon  this  par- 
ticular morning  there  chanced  to  be  a  problem  in  our 
algebra  lesson  upon  which  I  had  spent  hours  of  hard 
study,  but  I  could  not  bring  the  right  answer.  Upon  all 
the  rest  I  was  perfect ;  but,  to  my  no  small  annoyance,  I 
found  when  the  class  was  called  I  was  as  far  from  right  as 
ever. 

"Well,"  I  thought,  "after  the  recitation  is  over,  I  will 
get  Miss  Lane  to  show  us  where  the  trouble  is ;"  for  I  knew 
Gertie  and  Nettie  were  as  much  in  the  dark  as  I,  for  they 
had  both  been  to  me  for  assistance,  which  I  was  unable  to 
give.  Just  at  this  moment  Uncle  Ralph  came  in,  as  he 
often  does  when  he  is  here  during  study-hours,  and  took 
a  seat  near  the  door,  to  listen  to  our  recitation.  Miss 
Lane  bowed  "good-morning"  to  him,  and,  accustomed  to 


24  BEECHWOOD. 

his  presence,  went  on  with  the  lesson  as  usual.  Nettie  and 
Gertie  were  already  at  the  board,  working  at  the  problems 
assigned  them;  and,  as  I  stood,  book  and  chalk  in  hand, 
waiting,  Miss  Lane  said, — 

"You  may  work  the  'twenty-third'  problem,  if  you 
please,  Miss  Nannie." 

I  thought  I  should  fly,  for  it  was  the  hateful  example  over 
which  I  had  toiled  till  my  brain  was  a  confused  mass  of 
"x's"  and  "_y's,"  "unknown  quantities"  and  "cube 
roots."  Why  had  she,  out  of  the  whole  six  examples  set 
for  our  lesson,  given  me  the  only  one  I  could  not  work? 
And  Uncle  Ralph  there,  too  !  How  should  he  know  that 
I  could  work  with  ease  any  and  all  the  others?  The  only 
one  assigned  me  I  could  not  do :  how  should  he  know  it 
was  not  the  same  with  all?  A  thought  struck  me,  and  I 
began  to  work  rapidly  upon  the  twenty-fourth  problem, 
hoping  Miss  Lane  would  not  notice  the  difference.  But 
in  a  moment  she  said,  "  The  twenty-third  problem,  I  said, 
Miss  Nannie."  Then,  in  my  blind  anger,  I  felt  that  she 
knew  I  could  not  work  it,  and  only  did  this  to  mortify  me 
before  Uncle  Ralph.  I  did  not  even  notice  that  she  said, 
"Gertie  is  working  the  twenty-fourth."  I  turned  upon 
her  fiercely,  and  said,  "You  know  I  cannot  work  it;  and 
you  have  no  right  to  make  me  appear  always  to  the  worst 
possible  advantage!"  And  I  threw  the  book  upon  the 
desk  before  me,  and  burst  into  tears ;  but  not  till  I  had  seen 
the  sad,  surprised  look  of  reproof  that  Uncle  Ralph  threw 
upon  me  as  he  arose  and  left  the  room.  He  had  never 
given  me  such  a  look  before;  and  all  because  of  Miss  Lane. 
How  I  hated  her !  She  had  no  right  to.  mortify  me  so, 
and  turn  dear  Uncle  Ralph  against  me  thus.  These 
thoughts  passed  like  lightning  through  my  brain,  while  I 
sobbed  with  my  head  down  upon  my  desk, — for  the  only 
reply  Miss  Lane  had  made  to  my  violent  outbreak  was, 


BEECHWOOD.  25 

"You  may  go  to  your  seat,  Miss  Nannie,"  and  I  had 
gone.  Study-hours  closed  with  this  recitation,  and  Nettie 
and  Gertie  had  stolen  out,  as  I  afterward  learned,  to  find 
Uncle  Ralph,  and  tell  him  how  faithfully  I  had  been  trying 
to  solve  the  problem,  hoping  it  would  be  some  excuse  in 
his  eyes  for  my  offense.  Miss  Lane  lingered  a  few  mo- 
ments, adjusting  the  books,  and  then  she  too  went  out, 
without  a  word,  and  I  was  left  to  my  by  no  means  pleas- 
ant thoughts. 

After  a  little,  my  violent  sobbing  exhausted  itself,  and  a 
calmer  mood  took  possession  of  me.  I  began  to  wonder 
really  what  Uncle  Ralph  thought  of  my  conduct.  Then, 
from  him  I  came  to  think  of  Miss  Lane,  and  to  suspect 
I  had  acted  very  unjustly  toward  her,  instead  of  her  to- 
ward me.  I  saw  now,  clearly,  that  she  could  not  possibly 
have  known  that  I  had  failed  to  solve  that  particular 
problem,  for  she  had  been  busy  in  her  own  room  all  morn- 
ing, until  study-hours  began.  How  very  miserable  I  felt! 
At  last  I  heard  a  light  step,  and  Gertie  stole  to  my  side, 
with  comforting  words,  and  tried  to  coax  me  down-stairs ; 
but  my  heart  was  still  too  sore. 

"  What  does  Uncle  Ralph  say,  Gertie?"  at  last  I  ven- 
tured to  ask. 

"  Very  little,  dear,  only  that  he  was  grieved  to  hear  you 
speak  as  you  did  to  Miss  Lane." 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  on  Miss  Lane's  account,  then,"  I  said,  a 
little  of  the  old  spirit  returning  in  me.  "  And  what  does 
she  say?" 

"That  she  does  not  think  you  meant  to  be  at  all  disre- 
spectful, but  spoke  under  strong  excitement  at  the  moment. 
She  had  no  idea  but  that  you  were  perfect  in  your  lesson, 
as  you  always  are.  She  told  Uncle  Ralph  that  you  were 
the  most  accurate  scholar  she  had  ever  had ;  and  that  except 
in  this  one  instance  your  conduct  had  been  above  reproach. ' ' 

3* 


26  BEECHWOOD. 

11  Did  she  really  say  that,  Gertie?"  I  asked,  with  a  pang 
of  self-reproach. 

"  She  did  indeed,  and  begged  Uncle  Ralph  to  come  and 
assure  you  of  his  pardon." 

"  And  he  would  not?" 

"No  :  he  said  the  offense  was  too  serious  to  be  lightly 
overlooked,  and  bade  me  give  you  this,"  laying  a  little  card 
upon  the  desk  before  me.  "But,  dear,"  she  continued, 
"  come  and  say  you  are  sorry,  and  it  will  all  be  right." 

"No,  Gertie,"  I  said,  kissing  her:  "you  are  a  good, 
kind  sister  to  come  to  me  thus  ;  but  I  cannot  go  now.  You 
go  down,  and  I  will  come  presently." 

"Will  you,  indeed?" 

"Yes,  before  dinner.     Now  go." 

She  left  me  reluctantly ;  and  as  soon  as  she  was  gone  I 
took  up  the  card,  and  read,  in  Uncle  Ralph's  bold  hand, — 

"  He  that  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  greater  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city." 

How  bitterly  I  cried  again  !  It  is  very  seldom  Uncle 
Ralph  ever  reproves  any  of  us,  although  since  dear  papa's 
death  he  has  been  our  only  guardian ;  and  it  seemed  very 
bitter  to  me  now,  the  more,  since  I  felt  it  was  not  unde- 
served. I  sat  and  thought  a  long  while;  and  the  more  I 
thought,  the  more  hateful  my  conduct  appeared  to  me. 
Why  could  I  not  have  frankly  told  Miss  Lane  I  had  tried 
faithfully  but  could  not  solve  the  problem  ?  Why  must  I 
fly  into  such  a  passion,  and  disgrace  myself,  and  make  every 
one  about  me  unhappy?  Was  this  always  to  be?  Gertie 
never  got  into  any  such  troubles,  while  my  unfortunate 
temper  was  always  leading  me  astray.  I  could  not  help  it, 
I  reasoned.  I  did  try,  but  could  not  overcome  it.  So  I 
reasoned  with  myself  a  long  time;  while  ever  and  anon, 
through  it  all,  would  steal  the  words,  "  He  that  ruleth  his 
own  spirit  is  greater  than  he  that  taketh  a  city."  Then  it 


EECHIVOOD.  27 

could  be  done ;  else  these  words  had  never  been  written. 
Yes,  it  could  be ;  and,  with  many  tears,  I  resolved  to  be 
doubly  watchful,  and,  if  possible,  conquer  myself. 

I  went  to  our  room, — Gertie's  and  my  own, — and  bathed 
my  face  and  brushed  my  hair ;  but,  for  all  I  had  made  re- 
newed resolutions  for  the  future,  I  could  not  feel  satisfied. 
I  felt  something  more  than  this  was  required  of  me, — 
something  that  I  would  gladly  have  persuaded  myself  was 
not  at  all  necessary.  The  future  I  had  tried  to  prepare  for ; 
but  what  of  the  present  ?  At  last,  after  a  severe  struggle 
with  myself,  my  resolution  was  taken,  and  then  I  began  to 
feel  easier.  I  put  on  a  clean  linen  collar  and  apron,  and 
went  down-stairs.  I  saw  through  the  open  window,  as  I 
stepped  a  moment  upon  the  veranda,  that  Ralph  and  Nettie 
and  Gertie  were  grouped  together  near  the  mantel,  talking 
eagerly  about  a  picnic  to  come  off  in  a  few  days.  Miss 
Lane  and  Uncle  Ralph  were  sitting  near  the  window,  talk- 
ing ;  while  mamma  was  showing  Hal  Ray  a  beautiful  book  of 
prints  recently  sent  to  her  by  Uncle  Ben.  I  felt  strongly 
tempted  to  fly  back  to  my  own  room;  and  the  tempter 
whispered,  "That  is  a  good  excuse  for  not  speaking  now: 
wait  and  speak  to  Miss  Lane  in  her  own  room."  Then  my 
better  angel  said,  "  No;  you  insulted  her  in  the  presence  of 
others,  let  your  apology  be  before  them  also;"  and,  I  am 
glad  to  say,  for  once  it  triumphed,  and  I  turned  and  walked 
resolutely  into  the  room.  I  would  much  have  preferred 
that  Ralph  and  Hal  should  not  have  been  there ;  but  I  did 
not  mean  to  let  their  presence  deter  me  from  doing  what  I 
felt  was  right,  whatever  they  might  think  of  me  for  it.  I 
expected  Ralph  would  never  have  done  teasing  me  for  it; 
but  I  determined  not  to  care.  I  crossed  the  room,  half 
dizzy  with  excitement  and  embarrassment,  to  where  Uncle 
Ralph  and  Miss  Lane  were  sitting,  and  scarcely  knew  my 
own  voice  as  I  stammered  out, — 


28  BEECHWOOD. 

"  Miss  Lane,  I  was  both  disrespectful  and  unjust  to  you 
this  morning :  I  am  sorry  for  it,  and  hope  you  will  forgive 
me!" 

I  saw  a  look  of  such  surprise  and  pleasure  flush  Uncle 
Ralph's  face  when  I  spoke,  as  fully  repaid  me  for  all  I  had 
suffered,  and  at  the  same  moment  heard  Ralph  say, — 

"Why,  the  brave  little  sis!  I  didn't  think  it  was  in  her!" 

All  this  was  so  wholly  unexpected  to  me,  who  had  ex- 
pected anything  rather  than  commendation,  that  when 
Miss  Lane  rose,  as  she  instantly  did,  and,  putting  her  arm 
about  me,  said,  very  tenderly,  "  That  I  certainly  will,  dear 
Nannie,  and  hope  you  will  think  of  it  no  more,  as  I  cer- 
tainly shall  not,"  I  laid  my  head  upon  her  shoulder,  and 
cried  tears  of  happiness  rather  than  sorrow. 

When  I  looked  up  again,  no  one  was  in  the  room,  besides 
Miss  Lane  and  myself,  but  Uncle  Ralph,  and  he  stood  with 
his  back  to  us,  at  a  distant  window.  I  heard  the  others 
out  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  laughing  and  talking, 
and  thanked  them  all  sincerely  in  my  heart  for  sparing  me 
the  embarrassment  of  their  presence.  Miss  Lane  kissed  me 
as  she  said, — 

"  Never  doubt  me,  Nannie :  love  me  a  little,  if  you  can, 
and  be  sure  that,  next  to  your  mother,  I  am  your  friend." 
She  kissed  me  again,  and  whispered,  "  Now  run  and  speak 
to  Uncle  Ralph,  and  I  will  brush  my  hair  for  dinner,"  and 
slipped  out  of  the  room. 

I  crossed  the  room  timidly  to  where  he  was  standing,  and 
whispered,  without  looking  up, ' '  Have  you  forgiven  me  also  ?' ' 

"Entirely,  dear  child,"  he  said,  smoothing  my  hair 
softly,  as  I  leaned  my  head  against  his  arm, — "  entirely;  and 
I  am  proud  to  see  that  this  morning  my  little  girl  has 
gained  a  great  victory  over  herself,  and  is  truly  'greater 
than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'  ' 

"Oh,  Uncle  Ralph!" 


BEECIIWOOD. 


29 


"Yes,  darling,  you  have  acted  nobly,  and  we  all  honor 
you  for  it.  And  I  trust  this  morning's  experience,  bitter 
as  it  has  been,  will  be  a  safeguard  for  the  future,  by  warning 
you  of  the  treacherous  quicksands  upon  which  you  walk 
when  you  trust  to  impulse  rather  than  reason." 

Much  more  he  said,  in  the  few  moments  we  stood  there 
together,  that  I  trust  will  help  me  in  my  endeavors  for  the 
future.  Oh,  if  I  only  could  be  as  good  as  he  and  dear 
mamma !  Somehow,  when  I  am  with  Uncle  Ralph  he 
compels  me  to  do  what  is  right,  without  ever  saying  a  word 
to  me.  I  told  him  so  this  morning ;  but  he  only  laughed, 
and  said  that  was  an  idea  of  my  own, — that  I  could  do  right 
as  easily  away  from  him  as  with  him  ;  but  I  don't  half  be- 
lieve it.  Then  mamma  came  to  say  dinner  was  waiting. 
We  had  been  so  busy  talking  that  I  had  not  noticed  the 
bell ;  and  she  kissed  me  very  tenderly,  which  meant  more 
than  many  words.  My  talk  with  Uncle  Ralph  had  made 
me  myself  again  ;  and,  somehow,  they  all  were  so  kind  that 
my  embarrassment  soon  wore  away,  and  the  dinner  passed 
much  more  pleasantly  than  I  had  feared.  Hal  and  Nettie 
stayed ;  and  after  dinner  we  all  went  over  into  the  beech- 
woods,  and  had  a  real  royal  time  till  sunset.  Hal  was  with 
me  nearly  all  afternoon,  and  was  so  gentle  and  kind.  I 
knew  he  wanted  me  to  know  he  thought  I  had  done  right. 
He  is  such  pleasant  company.  We  shall  miss  him  sadly 
when  he  goes  back  to  college. 

Last  Thursday  our  picnic  came  off,  and  such  a  pleasant 
day  as  we  did  have  !  Charlie,  who  has  been  in  the  coun- 
try visiting  with  a  friend  for  several  weeks,  came  home  the 
day  before,  which  made  us  glad  to  start  with.  He  is  such 
a  dear,  good  boy,  and  so  quiet,  too,  one  would  never  know 
he  was  about  the  house  till  he  was  stumbled  upon,  book 
in  hand,  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner.  I  will  except 
him  from  the  generality  of  boys.  He  is  no  tease;  he  is  so 


3o  BEECHWOOD. 

quiet  mamma  thinks  he  will  be  a  minister ;  but  he  says 
himself  he  means  to  be  a  physician.  He  is  two  years 
younger  than  Ralph,  and  as  unlike  him  as  day  is  to  night, 
both  in  appearance  and  disposition.  He  looks  more  like 
Kittie  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us  ;  he  is  a  great  student,  and 
cares  for  little  else,  so  that  he  has  all  the  books  he  wants  to 
read.  But  to  return  to  our  picnic. 

Thursday  morning  rose  bright  and  beautiful,  and  about 
nine  o'clock  we  started  to  the  Bluffs,  which  are  distant 
about  three  miles.  Uncle  Ralph  took  mamma,  whom  we 
had  finally  persuaded  to  go,  with  Miss  Lane  and  little  Kittie, 
in  his  rockaway.  Then  Ralph  and  Charlie  and  Gertie  and 
Ellis  Ray  (who  is  now  visiting  with  Hal)  and  Sallie  and 
Susie  Reid  from  the  village  were  stowed  into  the  spring- 
wagon,  together  with  sundry  baskets  of  luncheon  ;  and 
Nettie  and  Hal  and  I  followed  upon  our  ponies, — and  such 
a  merry  party  as  we  did  make  !  We  climbed  the  rocks  and 
romped  through  the  woods,  seeking  ferns  and  mosses  and 
flowers,  till  we  were  tired  ;  and  then  we  had  luncheon  on 
the  grass  near  a  beautiful  spring  of  water  that  trickles  laugh- 
ingly from  the  rocks.  Mamma  had  provided  a  large  table- 
cloth, and  plenty  of  everything  nice  to  eat,  and  I  assure 
you  we  did  full  justice  to  the  good  fare.  We  did  not  reach 
home  till  nearly  sundown.  I  had  found  seven  different 
varieties  of  moss,  and  quite  a  quantity  of  beautiful  ferns 
and  flowers.  Hal  gave  me  what  he  had  collected  also,  so 
that  I  was  able  to  _make  quite  an  addition  to  my  herbarium. 
Hal  said  it  was,  without  doubt,  the  pleasantest  day  he  ever 
spent,  and  I  am  sure  I  enjoyed  it  very  much  indeed. 

July  31.  To-day  it  rained  so  hard  all  day  that  we  could 
not  go  to  church ;  so,  at  mamma's  suggestion,  we  all  went 
into  the  library  at  ten  o'clock,  and  Ralph  read  one  of  Mr. 
Wesley's  sermons.  When  he  was  done,  Miss  Lane  said 
she  had  been  recently  reading  a  very  interesting  sketch  of 


BEECHWOOD.  3! 

his  life,  and  if  we  would  like,  and  Ralph  was  not  too  tired, 
she  would  get  it  for  us.  She  did  so,  and  Ralph*read  part 
of  it ;  when,  feeling  a  little  weary,  he  gave  the  book  to 
Miss  Lane,  and  she  herself  finished  it.  She  reads  very 
sweetly  indeed,  and  we  all  enjoyed  it  very  much.  What  a 
good  man  Mr.  Wesley  was,  and  how  much  I  should  have 
enjoyed  hearing  him  preach  !  Those  were  strange,  troubled 
times  in  which  he  lived,  and  I  sometimes  wonder  if  people 
really  felt  as  we  feel  now,  they  acted  so  differently.  Mamma 
says  grandpa  has  often  heard  Mr.  Wesley  speak ;  and  she 
has  heard  him  tell  of  the  large  crowds  he  would  draw, 
and  the  breathless  attention  with  which  the  people  hung 
upon  his  words, — immense  crowds  coming  across  the 
fields  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  summer  and  winter, 
to  listen  to  his  teachings.  After  dinner  we  had  some  sacred 
music ;  and  so  the  day  we  had  feared  would  seem  so  long 
and  dull  has  passed  very  rapidly  and  pleasantly.  (How 
much  really  depends  upon  ourselves  whether  or  not  our 
time  is  pleasantly  and  pjnfira-hly  spent/! '  Some  persons  say 
that  everything  depends  tlpon  outward  surroundings ;  but 
I  believe  the  happiest  person  I  ever  knew  was  old  Granny 
Grey,  who  lived  near  the  river  by  Aunt  Katie's.  I  always 
loved  to  visit  her  when  I  went  to  auntie's ;  for,  although 
her  little  cabin  was  built  of  logs  and  had  but  one  room,, 
and  very  scantily  furnished  at  that,  she  kept  it  scrupulously 
neat,  and  was  always  as  cheerful  and  happy  as  though  she 
had  every  wish  of  her  heart.  I  asked  her  once  if  she  never 
felt  unhappy  or  lonely,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  story  she 
then  told  me,  or  the  look  of  submission  and  faith  upon  her 
face  as  she  talked.  I  was  so  impressed  with  it  that  when  I 
came  home  I  wrote  a  little  sketch,  which  I  will  copy  here  that 
I  may  preserve  it, — not  for  its  own  merit,  but  in  memory  of 
dear  old  granny;  for  only  a  few  weeks  ago  the  angels  called 
her,  and  I  feel  sad  to  think  I  shall  never  see  her  again. 


32  BEECHWOOD. 


OLD  GRANNY  GREY. 

She  sits  in  the  sunlight,  knitting; 

Her  dress  is  faded  and  thin, 
And  a  kerchief  over  her  head  is  thrown 

And  fasten'd  under  her  chin. 

Her  face  it  is  brown  and  wither'd ; 

Her  hair  it  is  thin  and  gray ; 
And  if  roses  ever  were  in  her  cheeks, 

They  long  have  faded  away. 

Her  hands  are  brown  and  harden'd, — 
They  always  were  used  to  toil, — 

But  you  need  not  fear  their  kindly  touch 
Your  daintiest  robe  would  soil. 

As  she  looks  up  from  her  knitting, 
Her  eyes  are  faded  and  dim, 

But  they  wear  a  meek  and  holy  look, 
As  she  softly  croons  a  hymn. 

She  lives  in  her  little  cottage, 

Adown  by  the  river  side, 
So  close  you  can  always  hear  and  see 

The  rippling  of  the  tide. 

'Tis  a  tiny,  moss-grown  cottage, — 

One  room  comprises  all, — 
But  the  floor  is  white,  and  shining  tins 

Look  down  from  the  snowy  wall. 

The  grass  and  violets  mingle 

Around  the  cottage  door, 
And  roses  cling  to  the  lowly  thatch, 

And  clamber  the  casement  o'er. 

As  I  sit  on  the  lowly  doorstep 

And  look  in  the  kindly  eyes, 
I  somehow  think  of  the  shadowy  light 

When  a  summer  evening  dies. 

And  while  she  is  slowly  knitting, 
And  the  sun  is  sinking  away, 

I  say,  "  Are  you  never  lonely  here, 
Dear  Granny,  Granny  Grey?" 


BEECHWOOD. 

And  the  dim  eyes  smile  so  kindly, 
As  she  lays  her  knitting  down, 

And  o'er  her  dress,  so  scant  and  thin, 
She  folds  her  hands  so  brown. 

And  she  says,  "  Dear  little  Nannie, 

I  am  never  lonely  now ; 
But  there  was  a  time,  in  the  years  agone, 

That  I  wept  the  long  day  through. 

"  I  came  to  this  little  cottage 
A  youthful  and  happy  bride ; 

And  my  husband,  a  goodly  man  and  true, 
Stood  proudly  by  my  side. 

"  And,  one  by  one,  three  children 
God  sent,  as  the  years  went  by, 

And  I  thought  my  happiness  complete 
As  I  watch'd  them  sporting  nigh. 

"  And  they  grew  up  fair  and  comely, — 
Two  boys  and  a  lovely  girl, — 

With  laughing  eyes,  and  hair  that  fell 
In  many  a  sunny  curl. 

"  And  I  thought  that  ne'er  was  mother 

So  happy  and  blest  as  I. 
It  never  enter'd  my  heart  that  God 

Could  let  my  children  die. 

"  One  beautiful  day  in  summer, 

Just  thirty  years  ago, 
My  manly  boys  and  their  father  went 

On  the  river  here  to  row. 

"  And  they  were  full  of  their  frolic, 

As  boys  are  wont  to  be, 
And  Jenny  and  I  stood  watching  them 

And  laughing  at  their  glee. 

"  But  in  their  frolic  the  boat  upset. 

I  saw  them  struggling, — and  then — 
The  river  is  wide,  and  swift,  and  deep — 

They  never  came  back  again." 

4 


33 


34 


BEECHWOOD. 

She  stops  in  her  simple  story, 

And  covers  her  face  so  brown 
With  her  wither'd  hands,  while  one  by  one 

The  silent  tears  drop  down. 

A  moment  of  silent  weeping, 

In  memory  of  her  dead  ; 
Then  she  resumes,  in  softer  tone, 

The  story's  broken  thread. 

"  Three  sorrowful  years  I  yielded — 

Forgetting  all  else  beside — 
To  grief  for  my  idols  snatch 'd  away ; 

Then  Jenny  grew  sick,  and  died. 

"  And  then  I  saw  how  sinful 

And  selfish  I  had  been, 
And  strove  to  take,  with  a  cheerful  heart, 

The  burden  of  life  again. 

"  And  God  helps  my  endeavors ; 

For  when  I  would  sorrowful  be, 
His  promises,  full  of  love  and  hope, 

Seem  spoken  direct  to  me. 

"  And  often  here  on  the  doorstep 

I  sit,  in  the  sunlight's  glow, 
And  think  of  the  shadowy  river, 

With  its  ever  solemn  flow ; 

"  For  I  know  they  all  are  waiting 

For  me  on  the  other  shore  ; 
And  I  know  ere  many  years  are  fled 

J^  shall  take  the  journey  o'er. 

"  So  I  sit  in  quiet  waiting, 

And  never  lonely  am  I, 
For  I  know  on  their  shadowy  wings  of  light 

They  are  often  hovering  nigh." 

She  ceases.     The  sunset  shadows 

Are  lengthening  over  the  lea ; 
And  I  think  of  the  mystic  river, 

And  think  of  the  "  crystal  sea." 


BEECHWOOD.  35 

For  the  fading  sunlight  falleth 

On  the  river's  rippling  flow, 
And  I  seem  to  hear,  through  the  balmy  air, 

The  murmur  of  voices  low. 

And  I  say,  "  Good-night,  dear  granny ;" 

And,  as  she  smiles  on  me, 
I  think  how  like  an  angel's  face 

Dear  Granny  Grey's  must  be. 

And  I  know  ere  long  the  angels 

Will  breathe  on  the  weary  eyes, 
And  fold  the  toil-worn  hands,  and  bear 

Her  upward  to  the  skies. 

And  this  simple,  true  inscription 

Should  be  graven  on  her  tomb, — 
"  The  angels  found  her  waiting, 

When  they  came  to  call  her  home." 

I  know  this  little  poem  is  by  no  means  perfect,  either  in 
rhyme  or  measure ;  but  then,  as  Aunt  Katie  says,  it  was 
written  by  a  little  girl  only  fourteen  years  old,  and  you 
could  not  expect  it  to  be  anything  very  wonderful.  In  the 
future  I  hope  to  do  better. 

Aug.  i.  "  Oh,  mamma  !  do  see  what  Aunt  Louise  gave 
me,"  said  little  Kittie  this  morning,  running  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, half  breathless  with  haste,  her  little  white  apron 
filled  with  beautiful  flowers,  and  a  tiny  basket  of  most  de- 
licious peaches  in  her  hand.  She  had  just  returned  from 
Colonel  Ray's,  and,  as  usual,  "Aunt  Louise,"  as  we  all  call 
Nettie's  aunt,  had  given  her  all  that  she  could  carry  home. 
She  is  quite  a  favorite  there  with  all  the  household,  and 
considers  it  a  great  privilege  to  be  permitted  to  go  over 
alone,  as  mamma  occasionally  allows  her  to  do.  "These 
are  for  you,  mamma,"  she  continued,  setting  the  basket  of 
fruit  at  mamma's  feet  and  putting  up  her  rosy  lips  for  a 
kiss,  "but  these  are  all  mine;  Aunt  Louise  said  so;"  and 
she  seated  herself  on  the  floor,  and  forthwith  fell  to 


3  6  BEECHWOOD. 

weaving  a  garland  of  the  beautiful  buds  and  roses  and 
jessamines  and  verbenas  with  which  her  lap  was  filled.  A 
most  lovely  picture  she  made,  too,  as  she  sat  there  upon 
the  soft  carpet,  her  little  dimpled  arms  and  neck  bare,  her 
long  sunny  curls  falling  about  her  face  and  shoulders,  as 
she  bent  over  her  task,  and  her  little  face  aglow  with 
pleasure;  for  she  has  a  passionate  fondness  for  flowers,  as 
for  all  else  beautiful. 

"Aunt  Louise  is  always  very  kind  to  my  little  girl," 
said  mamma,  caressingly. 

"1  believe  she  loves  Kittie,"  she  answered,  with  charm- 
ing naivete,  "for  she  lets  me  do  just  as  I  please,  always, 
when  I  am  there." 

"I  don't  think  she  is  any  exception  in  that  respect,"  I 
said,  laughingly. 

Mamma  shook  her  head  warningly  :  she  thinks  Kittie  is 
in  sad  danger  of  being  spoiled  by  us  all.  I  believe  Kittie 
was  too  busy  just  at  that  moment  to  notice  anything. 
Presently,  however,  she  raised  her  head,  and  said,  very 
earnestly, — stopping  her  work  the  while, — 

"Oh,  mamma,  don't  you  think  that  John  and  Martha 
[the  cook  and  coachman  at  Colonel  Ray's]  were  real 
angry  with  each  other,  while  I  was  there,  and  Martha  threw 
a  cup  of  water  right  in  John's  face,  and  then  he  was ' 

"Stop  a  moment,  Kittie,"  said  mamma,  breaking  into 
her  excited  narrative,  and  holding  up  a  warning  finger. 
"  Did  Martha  tell  you  to  tell  us  this?" 

"No,  mamma,"  she  answered,  in  surprise. 

"Did  John?" 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am"  (still  more  surprised). 

"Well,  who  did,  then?" 

"Why,  no  one,  mamma.  I  only  thought  I  would  tell 
you  about  it ;  it  was  so  ugly." 

"Why  should  you  tell  me  about  it,  Kittie?" 


BEECHWOOD. 


37 


"Why,  don't  you  want  to  know  all  about  it,  mamma?" 

"  Certainly  not,  darling.  Mamma  has  no  right  to  know 
what  is  passing  in  anybody's  home  but  her  own ;  nor  has 
she  any  desire  so  to  do.  Mamma's  duty  is  to  keep  her  own 
little  household  straight,  and  allow  every  one  else  to  do  the 
same.  When  you  are  a  little  older,  you  will  understand 
this  better ;  now  you  must  only  remember  that  it  is  very 
wrong  to  repeat  to  another  anything  you  see  or  hear  that 
was  not  intended  especially  for  yourself;  and,  above  all, 
never  speak  of  people's  faults  when  you  are  away  from 
them." 

"Why  not,  mamma?" 

"Suppose  Nettie  Ray  had  been  here  yesterday  when 
you  were  naughty  and  cried  because  mamma  refused  to  let 
you  go  to  the  meadow  with  Joseph  when  the  shower  was 
coming  up.  Would  you  have  liked  to  have  her  go  home 
and  tell  Aunt  Louise  and  Colonel  Ray  how  naughtily 
you  had  acted,  in  refusing  to  obey  your  mamma  cheer- 
fully?" 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,"  she  said,  her  sweet  little  face  flush- 
ing, and  her  eyes  half  filled  with  tears. 

"Well,  little  Kittie  must  learn  to  practice,  as  well  as  re- 
peat, the  golden  rule." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  that  is,  mamma  !  '  Do  unto  others  as 
you  would  that  they  should  do  to  you.'  I  learned  that  at 
Sunday-school." 

"Well,  dear,  if  you  are  unwilling  to  have  others  talk  of 
your  faults,  you  must  be  careful  never  to  speak  of  theirs." 

"Oh!"  said  Kittie,  and  relapsed  at  once  into  silence, 
and  was  soon  again  wholly  engrossed  in  her  flowers.  Ger- 
tie and  I  had  both  been  attentive  listeners,  and  felt  the 
lesson  was  not  designed  for  Kittie  alone.  After  a  little, 
Gertie  said,— 

"  Do  you  think  I  did  wrong,  mamma,  in  speaking  of 


3  8  BEECHWOOD. 

Susie  Lewis  as  I  did,  a  little  while  ago  ?  I  am  sure  I  did 
not  mean  any  harm." 

"  That  I  can  readily  believe,  Gertie,"  mamma  answered  ; 
"  but  let  us  look  at  the  possible  results  of  your  words,  and 
then  we  can  form  a  better  idea  of  the  right  and  wrong  in- 
volved. Did  you  expect  Susie  would  ever  hear  of  your  re- 
mark and  profit  by  it?" 

"Oh,  no;  of  course  I  knew  Nannie  would  never  repeat 
it." 

"Well,  then,  did  you  think  Nannie  needed  the  lesson 
herself,  and  hoped  she  would  be  benefited  by  the  ex- 
ample?" 

"  Certainly  not,  mamma.  You  know  Nannie  is  neatness 
itself"  (a  compliment  for  which  I  am  entirely  indebted  to 
Gertie's  blind  partiality  for  her  careless  sister).  "I  do  not 
really  know  why  I  spoke  of  it  at  all,  only  that  Susie  always 
looks  so  very  untidy  and  careless,  one  cannot  but  notice  the 
contrast  between  herself  and  others.  Her  collar  is  usually 
awry,  her  hair  but  half  put  up,  her  apron  soiled  and  rum- 
pled, and  her  whole  appearance  anything  but  neat." 

"Neatness  is  surely  a  great  virtue,  but  one  that,  under 
some  circumstances,  it  is  very  difficult  to  practice.  It 
seems,  then,  that  it  was  only  a  little  gossip  you  were  treat- 
ing Nannie  to  when  you  spoke  of  Susie's  failings  in  that 
respect." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  would  call  it,  mamma,  only  I 
am  sure  I  cannot  see  what  possible  harm  it  could  do,"  said 
Gertie,  a  little  obstinately. 

"Suppose  Miss  Lane,  or  any  other  stranger,  had  been 
present  and  heard  your  remarks,  what  impression  would 
naturally  have  been  received  in  regard  to  Susie? — favor- 
able, or  unfavorable?" 

Gertie  was  silent,  and  mamma  continued, — 

"It  is  true  you  said  nothing  either  harsh  or  untrue;  still, 


BEECHWOOD. 


39 


it  was  not  calculated  to  impress  a  stranger  greatly  in  Susie's 
favor.     Is  it  not  so?" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,  mamma,"  said  Gertie,  hum- 
bly ;  "  but  I  really  did  not  see  it  in  that  light  before." 

"  We  can  never  be  too  careful  how  we  condemn  others, 
even  for  trifling  faults.  Every  life  has  its  own  peculiar 
trials,  that  often  go  a  long  way  in  extenuation  of  such  fail- 
ings. Even  the  capricious  moods  of  our  servants  should 
be  regarded  with  leniency,  for  they  often  have  sorrows  and 
trials  that  we  know  nothing  of,  and  that,  in  their  ignorance, 
are  much  harder  for  them  to  bear  than  they  would  be  for 
us,  whose  minds  should  be  better  trained  by  education  for 
endurance. 

"And  now,  in  regard  to  Susie's  failing,  which  I  agree 
with  you  is  an  unfortunate  one  in  any  young  girl.  Do  you 
know  anything  of  her  home-life?" 

"Only  that  her  mother  is  an  invalid." 

"Yes,  her  mother  is  an  invalid,  and  there  are  four  chil- 
dren younger  than  herself,  one  of  whom  is  very  delicate 
and  not  yet  two  years  old.  They  have  a  housekeeper;  but 
the  principal  care  of  the  children,  and  often  of  the  mother, 
who  is  nervous  and  sometimes  hard  to  please,  falls  upon 
Susie  ;  and  the  poor  girl  has  cares  enough  not  only  to  make 
her  appear  careless  in  her  attire  but  also  care-worn  in  her 
face.  Every  morning  she  has  the  younger  children  to 
bathe  and  dress,  for  they  are  not  very  well  able  to  have  a 
nurse ;  and  then  the  little  one  is  rarely  out  of  her  arms 
when  awake,  so  that  it  is  not  much  to  be  wondered  at  that 
her  collar  is  awry,  her  hair  untidy,  and  her  apron  soiled 
and  rumpled.  Frequently  she  is  called  from  the  midst  of 
her  duties  to  go  on  some  errand  that  her  mother  fancies  no 
one  but  Susie  can  do,  and  hence  her  appearance  on  the 
street  in  that  condition.  Is  not  that  some  little  excuse  for 
the  fault  that  seems  so  inexcusable?" 


40  BEECHWOOD. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  how  heartily  ashamed  I  am  of  my 
thoughtless  remarks  !  Had  I  known  these  facts,  of  course 
I  should  never  have  spoken  as  I  did ;  but  I  thought  it  was 
only  a  careless  habit  into  which  she  had  fallen." 

"  Well,  dear,  it  all  helps  you  to  see  how  careful  we  should 
be  in  our  judgment  of  others,  (pould  we  look  into  the 
secret  lives  of  every  one,  I  doubt  not  we  should  almost 
always  find  something  that  would  teach  us  to  judge  more 
kindly  of  ther%)  But  even  were  it  not  so,  it  ill  becomes 
weak,  erring  mortals  like  ourselves  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
the  lives  of  those  with  whom  we  are  surrounded.  Our 
hands,  hearts,  and  heads  can  always  be  employed  in  more 
useful  as  well  as  more  pleasant  work ;  and  when  we  look 
into  our  own  lives  we  will  find  we  have  ample  work  to  do 
in  order  to  make  ourselves  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God, 
and  will  have  little  time  or  inclination  to  search  out  the 
faults  of  others." 

Here  mamma  left  us  to  our  own  reflections,  which  I  trust 
will  benefit  us  for  the  future ;  for,  without  the  least  idea  of 
doing  wrong,  we  are  so  apt  to  criticise  and  condemn  that 
which  we  do  not  like  in  others,  without  reflecting  that  this 
very  habit  is  tenfold  worse,  ofttimes,  than  the  fault  we  are 
condemning. 

"  Oh,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  others  see  us," 

I  quoted,  as,  twining  my  arm  about  Gertie,  I  gently  drew 
her  from  her  work  for  a  stroll  in  the  garden,  to  which  she 
responded,  with  a  sigh  and  a  wise  shake  of  her  head, — 

"Ah,  Nannie,  how  could  we  ever  bear  the  mortification 
such  a  knowledge  would  produce  ?" 

True  for  her, — how  could  we  ? 

Aug.  2.  When  I  came  into  the  drawing-room  this  morn- 
ing, a  little  while  after  breakfast,  I  found  Uncle  Ralph 


BEECHWOOD.  4! 

there  with  Kittie  snugly  quartered  on  his  knee,  and  both 
evidently  greatly  interested  in  some  proposition  afoot 
between  them.  When  I  entered,  Uncle  Ralph  said, — 

"  Here,  Nannie,  will  you  dress  this  little  puss  up  her 
very  prettiest  ?  I  have  promised  to  take  her  to  ride  with 
me,  and,  as  I  shall  probably  meet  some  friends,  I  want  her 
to  look  her  best,"  pulling  at  Kittie's  rosy  little  ear. 

Kittie  looked  very  wise,  but  said  nothing ;  so  I  took  her 
up  to  mamma's  room  and  bathed  her,  dressed  her  in  her 
new  white  India  muslin  that  Aunt  Katie  sent  to  her,  and 
that  mamma  only  finished  last  week,  looping  up  the  sleeves 
over  her  white,  dimpled  shoulders  with  broad  blue  ribbons, 
tying  her  scarf  to  match  about  her  waist,  and  dressing  her 
dear  little  fat  feet  in  her  blue  ankle-ties.  Then,  with  her 
long,  light  curls  newly  brushed  flying  about  her  shoulders, 
she  did  look  as  pure  and  sweet  as  a  little  angel. 

"You  precious  little  darling,"  I  said,  as  I  kissed  her 
again  and  again,  "  you  look  as  though  you  were  all  ready  to 
fly,  if  you  only  had  the  wings." 

"I  shall  have  those  someday,  sister,  sha'n't  I?" 

"  Not  very  soon,  I  hope,  darling,"  I  said,  with  a  sudden 
pang  at  my  heart  at  the  thought  of  losing  her.  "Are  you 
going  to  tell  me  where  you  and  Uncle  Ralph  are  going,  or 
is  it  a  great  secret?" 

"Oh,  a  very  great  secret!"  she  said,  shaking  her  little 
head  very  wisely.  "  I  should  like  to  tell  you  very  much  ; 
but  do  you  think  Uncle  Ralph  would  care?" 

"  Certainly  he  would,  dear,  if  you  promised  him  not  to 
tell,"  I  said  ;  for  I  could  not  take  advantage  of  her  sweet 
innocence,  though  I  must  confess  to  a  little  curiosity  on  the 
subject. 

"  Well,  I  mean  to  ask  him  to  let  me  tell  you,"  she  said, 
as  she  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck  and  hugged  and 
kissed  me  impulsively ;  then  she  bounded  away  to  find  Uncle 


42  BEECIIWOOD. 

Ralph.  I  followed  with  her  hat, — a  beautiful  little  white 
crape  one,  relieved  with  delicate  blue  trimmings, — and,  as 
I  set  it  upon  her  head  and  fastened  the  dainty  tie  under 
her  rosy  chin,  Uncle  Ralph  said,  admiringly, — 

"Well,  Nannie,  you  certainly  have  outdone  yourself: 
she  is  perfect !  Come,  Pussy,  it  is  time  we  were  off." 

So,  with  many  kisses  from  us  all,  she  was  lifted  into  the 
rockaway,  and  drove  off  in  high  glee  with  Uncle  Ralph, 
calling  back  to  me,  as  they  started,  "I'll  ask  him,  Nannie, 
if  I  may  tell  you." 

Precious  little  blossom  !  she  is  truly  the  sunlight  of  our 
home,  and  has  always  been.  Every  one  pets  Kittie  the 
more  because  the  dear  child  never  saw  our  father.  He  was 
drowned,  while  out  boating,  nearly  three  months  before  she 
was  born.  I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  mamma 
without  her.  Uncle  Ralph  and  she  returned  about  five 
o'clock  ;  and  she  had  many  and  wonderful  things  to  relate. 
She  had  her  little  lap  full  of  toys  that  different  persons  had 
given  her, — Uncle  Ralph  himself  having  bought  her  a  fine 
large  picture-book.  He  says  she  ruled  the  day  every  place 
they  went.  I  don't  doubt  it ;  she  always  wins  hosts  of 
friends.  She  slipped  up  to  me  soon  after  their  return, 
and  whispered,  "Uncle  Ralph  says  I  must  not  tell  you  yet. 
He  wants  to  see  if  I  can  keep  a  secret;  but  after  awhile  he 
will  let  me  tell  you  everything." 

"  Well,  dear,"  I  said,  "  that  will  do  nicely."  And  away 
she  flew  to  find  Ralph,  who  is  her  prime  favorite,  and  soon 
returned,  riding  in  triumph  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  Kittie,"  mamma  said,  "you  are  getting  too  large 
now  for  that !"  But  Ralph  pleaded, — 

"  Now,  mamma,  don't  try  to  make  her  think  she  is  not 
a  baby  !  What  will  we  all  do  if  our  kitten  becomes  a  prim 
young  lady?" 

Everybody  laughed,  and  Kittie  kept  her  seat ;  and  I  saw 


BEECHWOOD. 


43 


her  little  white  arms  clasp  Ralph's  neck — in  gratitude,  I 
suppose,  for  his  defense — till  his  face  grew  quite  purple. 
But  he  would  think  it  all  right  were  he  unable  to  breathe, 
just  so  it  was  Miss  Kittie's  doings. 

She  is  now  asleep,  her  little  arms  thrown  over  her  head, 
and  her  precious  face  flushed  and  happy  even  in  her  dreams. 
Some  one  has  beautifully  said,  "  Heaven  lies  about  us  in 
our  childhood  ;"  and  I  believe  it  is  most  emphatically  the 
case  with  Kittie,  for  she  is  always  happy.  I  shall  never 
forget  her  coming  in  from  the  garden,  where  she  had  been 
playing,  one  day  when  she  was  about  three  years  old,  and 
telling  mamma,  her  eyes  wide  open  with  astonishment  and 
pleasure,  that  there  was  an  angel  in  the  garden ;  she  had 
seen  it  fly  down  out  of  heaven ;  and  it  kept  telling  her 
something,  but  she  could  not  understand  what  it  was. 
We  all  went  into  the  garden  to  solve  the  mystery,  and 
there,  in  a  tree,  sat  old  Captain  Wood's  white  parrot,  chat- 
tering and  talking  at  a  great  rate.  Kittie  insisted  that  it 
flew  down  out  of  the  sky;  and  we  had  hard  work  to  con- 
vince her  it  was  only  a  bird.  She  looked  terribly  disap- 
pointed ;  said  she  thought  that  "  maybe  it  was  one  of  Dod's 
angels,  come  to  tell  her  she  might  go  up  into  the  sky." 

Ralph  will  never  let  her  forget  it.  He  calls  every  white 
bird  he  sees— ^even  to  a  white  goose,  I  believel — "  one  of 
Kittie's  angels." 

Aug.  5.  We  had  a  terrible  hailstorm  to-day, — the  hard- 
est, I  think,  I  have  ever  seen.  The  wind  blew  a  perfect  gale, 
and  the  lightning  was  dreadful.  We  all  went  into  the  library, 
and  mamma  had  the  lamps  lit ;  for  we  were  obliged  to  close 
all  of  the  shutters,  the  hail  was  so  large  and  was  blown 
with  such  violence  against  the  windows.  Many  of  the 
window-lights  were  broken  before  we  could  get  the  shutters 
closed.  (l_was  terribly  frightened,  and  sat  upon  a  little  stool 
by  mamma,  with  my  face  buried  in  her  lap  to  hide  the  vivid 


44  BEECHWOOD. 

flashes  of  lightning^  Ralph  sat  next  to  mamma,  with  Kittie 
in  his  arms;  and  Gertie  and  Charlie  were  upon  the  sofa 
with  Miss  Lane.  All  the  servants  came  into  the  room  also. 
Every  one  seemed  awe-struck,  the  storm  was  so  terrific. 
It  lasted  about  half  an  hour;  and  one  clap  of  thunder, 
more  dreadful  than  any  of  the  preceding,  and  coming 
almost  at  the  same  instant  with  a  very  vivid  flash  of  light- 
ning, caused  several  to  spring  to  their  feet.  I  was  sure  the 
house  was  struck.  I  clung  in  perfect  agony  to  mamma ; 
but  she,  though  very  pale,  was  perfectly  calm.  She  said  to 
me  once,  in  the  midst  of  my  fear,  "Remember,  dear,  who 
rules  the  storm  and  the  tempest :  we  are  in  his  hands." 

At  length  it  passed ;  and,  on  opening  the  doors  and 
windows,  what  a  scene  of  destruction  met  our  eyes !  All 
of  our  beautiful  flowers  beaten  to  the  ground,  many  of 
them  hopelessly  broken,  and  a  beautiful  great  apple-tree, 
full  of  fine  fruit,  was  cleft  from  top  to  bottom, — doubtless 
by  the  bolt  that  alarmed  us  all  so  much.  It  did  not  stand 
more  than  fifty  paces  from  the  house.  The  hail  was  blown 
in  great  drifts  about  the  doors  and  pavements ;  and  we 
picked  some  from  the  ground  as  large  as  a  hen's  egg. 
Joseph,  the  groom,  gathered  up  a  large  pailful,  and  they 
actually  froze  some  most  delicious  ice-cream  with  it.  I 
told  Ralph  I  thought  that  was  bringing  the  "farce"  rather 
close  upon  the  "tragedy."  He  said  that  once  during  the 
storm  little  Kittie  crept  up  close  to  his  ear  and  whispered, 
"Brother  Ralph,  is  God  angry,  that  he  makes  it  thunder 
so  loud?"  And  when  he  told  her,  "No;  that  it  was  the 
intense  heat  that  caused  it  all,"  she  seemed  perfectly  satis- 
fied, and  said,  "  Well,  he'll  take  care  of  us,  then,  I  know. 
I  was  afraid  he  was  angry  because  we  were  not  good  enough." 
Oh  for  the  beautiful  faith  of  childhood  !  Why  do  I  say ' '  child- 
hood "?  My  mother  has  the  same  faith  ;  our  Uncle  Ralph 
has  it  likewise  :  oh  that  I  might  add  the  same  of  myself! 


BEECHWOOD. 


45 


Aug.  8.  Gertie  and  I  have  been  taking  German  lessons 
of  Prof.  Murch,  this  summer.  He  comes  out  from  the 
village  three  times  a  week  to  hear  us  recite.  He  has  been 
quite  sick  for  a  week  past,  and  Uncle  Ralph  has  kindly 
heard  our  lessons  himself,  rather  than  have  us  miss  them. 
To-day  Gertie  had  a  very  bad  headache,  so  I  had  to  recite 
alone.  After  the  regular  lesson,  Uncle  Ralph  read  and 
translated  for  me  some  very  beautiful  passages  from  Goethe, 
some  lines  of  which  reminded  me  of  my  old  wonder  in 
regard  to  himself,  and  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  with  my 
usual  impetuosity,  I  said,  looking  up  suddenly, — 

"Uncle  Ralph,  why  have  you  never  married?" 

He  did  not  answer  me,  as  I  had  expected  he  would,  in 
his  usual  light  manner,  but  looked  greatly  surprised,  and 
after  a  moment  asked  me,  quietly, — 

"Why  do  you  ask  the  question,  Nannie?" 

"  Simply  because  it  has  always,  or  rather  of  late,  been  a 
matter  of  wonderment  to  me.  I  know  it  is  your  own  fault, 
for  the  young  ladies  are  all  half  in  love  with  you  ;  and " 

"Nannie,  Nannie  !"  he  said,  reprovingly,  "do  not  speak 
lightly  of  these  matters,  child  :  they  are  beyond  your  com- 
prehension." He  looked  at  me  searchingly  a  moment, 
and  then  rose  and  walked  rapidly  backward  and  forward, 
for  several  minutes,  across  the  floor.  I  was  beginning  to 
fear  I  had  done  very  wrong,  never  in  my  life  having  seen 
him  so  agitated  before ;  when  he  resumed  his  seat  in  the 
easy-chair  beside  me,  and,  laying  his  hand,  with  his  old 
caressing  movement,  upon  my  head,  as  I  sat  upon  a  low 
ottoman  near  him,  said,  half  sadly, — 

"Do  you  think,  Nannie,  that  you  are  old  enough  to 
listen  to  a  sad  story,  and  keep  it  ?' ' 

"  I  am  sure  I  am,  Uncle  Ralph ;  but  do  not  tell  it  to  me 
if  it  will  pain  you.  I  was  thoughtless  to  speak  as  I  did 
just  now." 

5 


46  BLECHIVOOD. 

"No,  dear;  it  was  a  very  natural  question;  and  the 
story  you  would  doubtless  one  day  hear, — perhaps  as  well 
now  as  at  any  other  time." 

He  sat  a  moment  thoughtfully,  and  then  said,  leaning 
forward  with  his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  as  though  reading 
from  the  carpet  beneath  his  feet, — 

"Several  years  ago,  when  you  were  quite  a  little  girl, 
Nannie,  not  more  than  four  or  five  years  old,  and  I  my- 
self was  only  about  twenty-two,  I  met  a  beautiful  young 
girl,  who  was  a  general  favorite  with  every  one,  and  whom 
I  soon  learned  to  greatly  admire.  I  say  she  was  beautiful ; 
but  her  beauty  consisted  more  in  a  rare  combination  of 
mental  and  moral  qualities,  than  in  perfect  symmetry  of 
form  or  features,  although  she  was  far  from  being  deficient 
in  either.  She  was  very  frail,  and  seemed  scarcely  more  than 
a  child  in  her  simplicity,  though  she  was  really  but  three 
years  younger  than  myself.  Very  slight  in  figure,  although 
enjoying,  in  general,  good  health,  she  seemed  too  spiritual 
for  earth.  She  was  purity  itself;  and  no  one  could  look  upon 
her  sweet,  childlike  face  without  feeling  an  intense  yearning 
in  the  heart  toward  her :  at  least  I  could  not.  It  chanced 
that  we  were  both  invited,  together  with  one  or  two  other 
friends,  among  whom  was  your  mother,  Nannie,  to  spend 
several  weeks  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  a  few  miles  from  our 
home.  It  was  in  summer,  and,  as  we  were  then  living  in  the 
city,  it  was  a  very  pleasant  change.  Thrown  constantly  into 
her  society,  my  admiration  soon  warmed  into  the  most  in- 
tense love.  She  was  never  absent  from  my  thoughts  at  any 
time,  and  when  out  of  her  presence  for  a  few  hours  I  was 
restless  and  uneasy  until  I  had  found  her  again.  In  spite  of 
my  love,  I  had  carefully  avoided  manifesting  any  unusual 
preference  for  her  society,  lest  I  should  startle  her  into 
avoiding  me  through  delicacy  of  feeling.  I  had  no  evi- 
dence that  my  society  was  more  to  her  than  that  of  her 


BEECHWOOD. 


47 


other  friends ;  although  I  had  sometimes  fancied  that  I 
detected  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice  when  I  unexpectedly 
addressed  her,  or  a  faint  flush  more  than  usual  on  her 
cheek  when  I  approached  her,  especially  if  we  chanced  to 
be  alone.  But  it  was  too  indefinite  for  me  to  build  much 
hope  upon,  and  I  determined  to  be  patient  and  bide  my 
time,  for  we  were  both  still  quite  young,  and  I  wanted  to 
be  sure  I  had  reason  to  think  she  preferred  me,  before  I 
incurred  the  risk  of  startling  her  by  an  avowal  of  my  own 
strong  attachment.  How  long  things  might  have  con- 
tinued in  this  state,  I  am  unable  to  say.  We  lay  our  plans 
with  wise  forethought,  as  we  proudly  think;  but  when  we 
have,  in  our  simple  judgment,  fully  matured  them,  Omnipo- 
tent Power  perfects  or  annihilates  them  by  a  single  breath. 
So  it  was  in  this  instance." 

He  stopped  a  moment  in  thoughtful  silence,  and  a  look 
of  intense  suffering  passed  over  his  face.  I  scarcely  knew 
what  to  say,  the  silence  continuing  some  minutes;  but, 
softly  stroking  one  of  his  hands  as  it  lay  upon  his  knee,  I 
said,  softly, — 

"What  was  her  name,  Uncle  Ralph?" 

"  The  sweetest  of  all  sweet  names, — Caryl  Carrington.  It 
was  drawing  near  the  close  of  our  visit,  when  I  was,  late 
one  night,  awakened  from  sleep  by  a  feeling  of  suffocation. 
I  sprang  instantly  from  my  bed,  with  a  strange  presenti- 
ment of  coming  danger,  to  find  my  room  full  of  smoke; 
and,  hurriedly  drawing  on  part  of  my  clothing,  I  ran  into 
the  hall  into  which  my  room  opened,  to  find  it  dense  with 
smoke,  and  K>  hear  the  unmistakable  sound  of  burning 
timbers.  The  house  was  on  fire,  I  knew  instantly,  and 
also  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  as  it  had  evidently  taken 
fire  below,  and  the  sleeping-apartments  were  all  above- 
stairs.  To  arouse  the  family,  and  bid  them*  flee  for  their 
lives,  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 


48  BEECHWOOD. 

"  'Go  quickly,'  I  said  to  Mrs.  Blair,  our  hostess,  who  had 
started  to  Caryl's  room,  'go  quickly  down-stairs;  I  will 
save  Caryl ;'  and  I  flew  to  her  room,  which  was  in  a  distant 
corridor  ;  your  mother,  who  roomed  with  Caryl,  was  spend- 
ing the  night  with  a  neighboring  friend,  and  I  knew  she  was 
alone.  There  was  no  time  for  ceremony,  and,  hastily  throw- 
ing open  her  door,  I  rushed  in,  catching  up  a  large  blanket- 
shawl  that  lay  upon  a  chair  near  the  bed.  She  seemed  to 
have  been  awake,  but  unconscious  of  danger;  and  when  I 
entered,  she  rose  in  bed  with  a  look  of  alarm  upon  her 
sweet  face  that  I  shall  never  forget. 

"  '  Darling,  the  house  is  on  fire  !  Will  you  trust  yourself 
to  me  ?'  I  cried, — all  the  tenderness  in  my  heart  for  her 
forcing  itself  into  my  voice  and  manner  in  that  hour  of 
peril.  She  did  not  speak  a  word,  but,  stepping  instantly 
from  her  low  bed,  turned  to  me  with  such  a  look  of  love 
and  trust  upon  her  face  that  I  thanked  God  in  my  heart 
for  the  danger  which  had  shown  me  thus  her  heart.  I  in- 
stantly enveloped  the  little  white-robed  figure  in  the  large 
shawl,  and,  gathering  her  in  my  arms,  ran  with  all  haste 
back  through  the  long  corridor  to  the  stairs  near  my  own 
room.  I  noticed  the  rooms  were  all  deserted  as  I  passed, 
and  felt  thankful  the  family  had  escaped.  We  reached  the 
stairs,  but  only  to  find  them  wholly  enveloped  in  smoke  and 
flames,  through  which  I  felt  it  would  be  worse  than  mad- 
ness to  strive  to  pass.  The  back  stairway  was  our  only 
hope.  I  darted  into  a  side  hall,  and  flew,  rather  than 
walked,  with  my  precious,  trembling  burden  pressed  close 
to  my  throbbing  heart.  She  had  not  once  spoken,  nor  in 
any  way  impeded  my  progress  or  thoughts ;  and  now,  as 
the  fear  of  a  terrible  fate  forced  itself  upon  me,  I  said, 
with  a  convulsive  tightening  of  my  arms  about  her,  'I  will 
save  you,  my  darling,  or  perish  with  you  in  the  flames.' 
She  still  made  no  reply ;  but  an  instant  after  I  felt  the  dear 


BEECHWOOD. 


49 


head  move  upon  my  shoulder,  and  the  warm,  fluttering  lips 
were  timidly  pressed  against  my  neck,  sending  a  thrill 
through  me  that  for  an  instant  almost  unmanned  me.  There 
was  no  need  of  words,  had  we  even  had  the  opportunity ; 
the  flimsy  veil  was  torn  aside,  and  each  had  read  clearly  the 
heart  of  the  other.  The  stairway  was  reached  ;  but,  alas, 
was  little  better  than  the  other.  True,  there  was  not  quite 
so  much  flame,  but  the  smoke  was  terrific.  I  felt  it  was 
our  last  hope,  for  before  we  could  reach  a  window  now  it 
would  be  too  late.  I  knew  the  floor  must  soon  give  way. 
There  was  one  instant  of  irresolution  as  we  looked  at  the 
perilous  way  ;  then  I  said,  hastily,  '  Shall  we  go  ?' 

"  'Yes,'  was  her  reply.  And  we  each  read  in  the  eyes  of 
the  other  the  belief  that  it  would  be  useless, — that  we  could 
not  escape  ;  and  with  the  thought  our  souls  clung  tenderly 
to  each  other,  and  our  lips  met  in  such  a  kiss  as  those  who 
love  passionately  and  know  they  are  about  to  lose  their 
idol  alone  can  understand.  Then  I  rushed  down  the  burn- 
ing stairs  into  the  smoke  and  flame.  When  midway  on  the 
stairs,  I  felt  them  giving  way  beneath  my  feet,  and  sprang 
with  my  now  helpless  burden  to  the  floor,  that  I  could 
dimly  see  was  not  yet  burned.  As  I  did  so  I  heard  a  crash 
behind  me,  and  knew  the  stairs  had  fallen.  Of  all  that 
afterward  passed  I  have  no  recollection,  the  smoke  so 
strangled  and  confused  me.  I  must  have  sought  blindly 
several  seconds  for  the  doorway,  for  they  saw  me  from 
outside  stagger  to  the  entrance  with  Caryl  still  in  my 
arms  and  sink  down  helpless  beside  it.  They  dragged  us 
out,  and  after  several  hours'  work  finally  brought  me  to 
consciousness ;  but  my  beautiful  Caryl  was  dead,  strangled 
by  the  smoke  in  my  arms." 

Poor  Uncle  Ralph's  voice  here  became  so  husky  that  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  sat  silent  for  several  min- 
utes. I  had  been  quietly  crying  for  some  time,  and  felt 

5* 


5o  BEECHWOOD. 

that  words  could  yield  no  comfort  amid  such  tender  mem- 
ories. At  last  he  raised  his  head,  and  said,  with  something 
of  his  old  manner, — 

"It  is  years  since  I  have  spoken  of  this  before.  Your 
question  startled  it  all  back  into  life  again,  and  I  felt  that  it 
would  be  a  relief  to  tell  it  you.  I  do  not  say  that  I  can 
never  love  again  or  that  I  will  never  marry ;  that  is  all 
hidden  in  the  future.  The  past  is  now  to  me  more  like 
the  memory  of  a  painfully-beautiful  dream  than  a  reality  ; 
but  it  has  left  its  influence  upon  my  life.  I  could  not  yield 
to  an  unholy  impulse  or  commit  wilfully  an  unmanly  act 
with  the  memory  of  her  pure  love  hallowing  my  heart ; 
nor  could  I  admit  to  my  heart  and  place  side  by  side  with 
her  own  the  image  of  one  in  any  way  unworthy  her  com- 
panionship. This,  doubtless,  is  one  reason  why  I  have 
never  felt  any  disposition  to  marry.  I  could  not  marry 
one  that  I  could  not  help  contrasting  unfavorably  with  the 
pure  being  who  first  taught  me  the  sacredness  of  love.  But 
how  I  am  talking  to  you,  Nannie  !  I  forget  you  are  only  a 
child  and  cannot  yet  appreciate  half  of  what  I  have  said." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Ralph,  I  do,  I  do!"  I  cried,  earnestly. 
"  H-QW;  I  wish  I  might  become  as  pure  and  good  as  Caryl 
Carrip&ton  !" 

"That. you  may,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  warmly. 

"  Oh,  no,  Uncle  Ralph,  never,  never!  /Do  you. know  I 
am  really  afraid  I  shall  never  be  anything  but  the  impulsive 
mad-cap  I  have  always  been?)  What  shall  I  do  with  this 
hot  temper  and  ungovernable  tongue  ?  Tell  me,  dear 
Uncle  Ralph,"  I  said,  half  tearfully,  for  my  heart  was  full, 
not  only  from  the  recital  of  his  story,  but  through  the  vivid 
contrast  it  presented  to  my  own  imperfect  nature. 

"  '  He  that  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  greater  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city.'  Remember,  darling,  it  can  be  done,"  he 
said,  as,  rising,  he  dropped  a  light  kiss  upon  my  upturned 


BEECHWOOD. 


51 


forehead,  like  a  benediction,  and  passed  from  the  room. 
And  a  few  moments  afterward  I  heard  the  clatter  of  his 
horse's  feet  as  he  passed  from  the  yard.  Dear  Uncle  Ralph  ! 
how  sad  that  he  of  all  others  should  have  such  an  expe- 
rience !  Why  it  is,  God  knows, — shall  we  ever? 

Aug.  9.  This  morning  at  breakfast  mamma  said,  "I 
have  had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Aunt  Martha  Mossburn, 
saying  she  will  spend  part  of  the  summer  and  fall  with  us, 
if  convenient  to  us.  What  shall  I  say  to  her?" 

"Capital!"  said  Ralph.  And  the  rest  were  silent, — 
Miss  Lane,  of  course,  because  she  does  not  know  her ;  and 
Gertie  and  I,  because  we  always  feel  under  so  much  restraint 
in  her  presence  that  I  fear  we  are  a  little  selfish  when  a 
long  visit  is  spoken  of  from  her.  Charlie  rarely  offers  an 
opinion.  Mamma,  I  thought,  looked  a  little  pained  at 
our  silence ;  £o  I_  must  needs  come  to  the  rescue  in  my 
usual  abrupt  stylej 

"Why,  mamma,  of  course  we  will  all  be  glad  to  have 
her  come;  only  I  do  hope  she  won't  take  Gertie  and  me 
to  task  for  every  act  of  our  lives,  as  she  always  does.  I 
scarcely  knew  whether  I  dared  call  my  head  my  own,  or 
not,  by  the  time  she  went  away  last.  She  did  even  take 
me  to  task  for  not  cutting  my  hair  off  short  like  Gertie's ; 
and  I  expect  this  time  she'll  want  to  put  me  back  into 
pinafores  and  pantalettes." 

"  Oh,  Nannie,  Nannie  !"  said  poor  mamma;  and  I,  con- 
science-stricken, persisted : 

"  Now,  mamma,  you  know  she  even  finds  fault  with  you, 
— with  you, — to  say  nothing  of  all  the  rest  of  us ;  ending 
with  poor  me, — whom  she  rarely  lets  see  a  peaceful 
hour!" 

"Well,  dear,"  said  mamma,  very  softly,  "we  doubtless 
all  need  a  little  fault-finding  occasionally,  to  keep  us  from 
having  too  high  an  opinion  of  our  own  perfections.  And 


52  BEECHWOOD. 

I  trust  we  will  all  make  Aunt  Martha's  visit  a  very  pleasant 
one  to  her,  whatever  it  may  be  to  us.  Remember,  she  is 
old,  and  be -very  patient  with  her,  for  she  is  a  good  woman 
at  heart,  and  means  well." 

"Oh,  yes,  mamma!"  we  all  promised  ;  and  so  it  is  settled 
Aunt  Martha  is  to  come.  She  is,  as  mamma  says,  a  good 
woman,  but  a  little  old-fashioned,  and  thinks  no  one  knows 
anything  half  so  well  as  she  does;  and  it  always  annoys  me 
to  hear  her  find  fault  with  mamma,— (clear,  patient,  perfect 
mamma)  She  was  Grandfather's  Clifford's  half-sister,  so 
is  really  but  little  kin  to  us,  though  she  visits  us  every  year 
or  two.  Her  husband  died  nearly  forty  years  ago,  but  she 
speaks  of  him  still  very  often.  And  now,  Nannie  Cleve, 
here  is  going  to  be  a  test — a  grand  test — for  your  patience; 
and  I  beg  that  you  may  profit  by  it,  and  keep  that  unruly 
little  tongue  of  yours  in  due  subjection.  Remember,  there 
is  no  glory  in  a  victory  where  there  has  been  no  contest. 
Remember  Uncle  Ralph's  proverb,  and  be  the  victor  here. 
I  will !  I  will ! 

Aug.  20.  To-day  was  mamma's  birthday;  and  we  had 
each  some  nice  little  present  prepared  for  her,  as  we  always 
have  on  these  blessed  anniversaries,  and  were  anticipating 
a  pleasant  day.  Uncle  Ralph  came  out  to  breakfast  with 
us;  and  the  day  has  indeed  been  one  of  unmitigated 
pleasure.  Little  Kittie  awakened  me,  at  a  very  early  hour, 
with  kisses  and  caresses,  and  a  little  pleading  voice,  say- 
ing, "Please  waken,  sister  Nannie,  and  dress  me." 

"Well,  Kittie,  I  am  awake  now,"  I  said;  "but  what  is 
the  hurry?  It  is  very  early  yet." 

"Yes,  I  know,  sister;  but  this  is  mamma's  birthday, 
you  know,  and  I  heard  Uncle  Ralph  come  long  ago ;  and 
— and — I  do  so  want  to  see  what  he  has  brought  mamma," 
with  a  comical  look  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  funny  little  puss  !"  I  said,  as  I  drew  the  dainty 


BEECHWOOD. 


53 


little  night-gowned  thing  up  into  my  arms,  "  maybe  he  has 
brought  her  nothing." 

"Oh,  yes!  he  has  brought  her  something,  I  know, — at 
least  I  think  so;  because  he  always  does,  you  know,"  with 
a  wise  little  shake  of  her  head.  "  Do  please  dress  me,  and 
let  me  go  see.  Uncle  Ralph  said  you  were  to  dress  me 
to-day,  just  as  you  did  the  day  I  went  to  ride  with  him, 
first." 

"Uncle  Ralph,  indeed!  What  does  he  know  about 
dressing  babies,  I'd  like  to  know?  Put  on  your  new  India 
muslin  before  breakfast?  What  would  mamma  say?"  And 
I  laughed  at  the  idea.  "Your  little  pink  shambra  and 
white  apron  will  be  much  more  suitable,  dear." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  said  Kittie,  very  earnestly.  "Uncle 
Ralph  said  I  must  have  on  my  white  dress  and  blue  rib- 
bons. Only  dress  me,  sister,  and  let  me  run  down  to  him, 
and  soon  as  you  come  down  you  may  take  my  dress  off 
again.  Only  I  must  have  it  on  a  little  while,  because  you 
know — you  know — well — Uncle  Ralph  said  so!"  And 
she  stood  with  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  before 
me. 

"Well,  I  suppose  Uncle  Ralph's  word  is  law.  I  see 
plainly  there  is  another  secret  on  hand,  and  I  shall  have 
to  submit,"  I  said,  as  I  arrayed  the  little  gipsy  in  the 
fancied  dress ;  "but  mind,  if  mamma  scolds,  you  and  Uncle 
Ralph  are  to  take  all  of  the  blame  !" 

"We  will !  we  will  [(but  mamma  never  scolds)  Nannie." 

"True  for  you,  darling,"  I  said,  as  I  tied  the  last  bow, 
and  sent  her  away  with  a  kiss. 

A  little  while  afterward,  I  went  and  found  mamma,  to 
give  her  my  good-morning  kiss  and  fasten  her  collar  with 
the  delicate  little  brooch  I  had  purchased  with  my  own 
spending-money.  She  was  just  starting  to  the  library, 
whither  she  had  been  summoned,  and  where  we  found  all 


54 


BEECHWOOD. 


the  others  waiting  at  the  door  with  their  congratulation 
and  tiny  love-offerings;  all  but  Kittie.  And,  as  we 
entered  the  room,  there  she  sat,  all  curled  up  in  a  great 
easy-chair,  with  her  tiny  white  kitten,  Daisy,  in  her  lap, 
and  her  little,  sunny,  ringleted  head  thrown  a  little  to 
one  side,  and  her  great  laughing  blue  eyes  dancing  with 
joy. 

"Why,  Kittie!"  mamma  began, — but  stopped  short  in 
bewildering  astonishment ;  for  there,  side  by  side  with  the 
original,  sat  another  Kittie,  encircled  by  a  heavy  gilt  frame, 
so  exactly  the  counterpart  of  the  former  it  seemed  almost 
impossible  to  tell  the  real  from  the  ideal.  The  artist  had 
indeed  delineated  faithfully  his  living  subject.  The  same 
sunny  head;  the  same  clear,  laughing  eyes;  the  same 
dimpled  shoulders ;  and  the  same  rosy,  saucy  mouth,  just 
ready  to  open  with  some  pretty  speech;  even  to  the  little 
white  kitten  in  her  lap,  with  its  sleepy  eyes  half  shut  in 
infinite  enjoyment  of  the  present.  Mamma  stood  a  moment 
motionless,  then  gathered  Kittie  to  her  full  heart  in  a 
silent  embrace,  and,  after  a  little,  turned  to  Uncle  Ralph, 
with  her  sweet  face  all  a-quiver,  and  her  voice  full  of  un- 
shed tears,  and  said, — 

"  Oh,  Ralph  !  I  know  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  this 
great  happiness.  Rarest  of  friends, — best  of  brothers, — 
how  can  I  ever  repay  you  for  your  loving  care?"  And  she 
fairly  broke  down,  and  leaned  her  head  upon  Uncle  Ralph's 
shoulder,  and  took  a  quiet  little  cry,  as  he,  with  his  arm 
about  her,  said, — 

"  I  am  repaid  a  thousandfold,  dear  Fannie,  if  it  has 
brought  you  a  moment's  added  happiness." 

All  of  our  hearts  and  eyes  were  full  in  sympathy  with 
dear  mamma,  and  I  do  not  know  but  that  there  would  have 
been  a  general  break-down,  had  not  Kittie  at  this  moment 
slipped  from  her  chair,  with  a  puzzled  look  upon  her  face, 


BEECHWOOD. 


55 


and,  stealing  up  to  Ralph,  said,  in  what  was  evidently  in- 
tended for  a  whisper,  but  was  heard  all  over  the  room, 
"Brother  Ralph,  what  makes  mamma  cry?  You  said 
she  would  be  so  glad  she  would  dance  for  joy!"  This 
brought  a  smile  to  all  faces,  and  restored  our  equilibrium, 
(as  Ralph  would  sav}  and  for  the  next  half-hour  Miss  Kittie 
queened  it  most  royally,  to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  her- 
self and  all  concerned. 

"So  this  is  Kittie's  and  Uncle  Ralph's  grand  secret,"  I 
said,  "and  accounts  for  the  frequency  of  Kittie's  long 
rides  of  late.  Well,  you  can  keep  a  secret,  Pussy,  and 
well  too." 

"Indeed  she  can,"  said  Uncle  Ralph;  "and  I  shall 
know  to  whom  to  go  with  mine  hereafter."  Kittie  looked 
justly  pleased  ;  for  she  has  been  a  very  paragon  of  secrecy 
through  all  these  weeks. 

"Well,"  said  Ralph,  "there  is  one  question  still  I 
should  like  to  have  answered,  before  I  eat  my  break- 
fast, lest  my  curiosity  should  overcome  my  appetite, — 
which  would  be  deplorable,  in  view  of  the  nice  fried 

•|^ 

chicken  and  hot  muffins  1  saw  Milly  preparing  as  I  passed 
through  the  kitchen  a  few  moments  ago.^/ There  goes 
the  breakfast-bell  now  !  Quick,  quick,  Eussy,  tell  me ! v 
how  came  Mr.  Van  Resslinger  to  paint  Daisy-kitten  so 
accurately  without  ever  having  seen  her  ?  The  likeness  is 
perfect.  I  even  fancy  I  see,  as  well  as  hear,  the  musical 
'purr'  with  which  she  expresses  her  infinite  satisfaction  at, 
and  just  appreciation  of,  the  course  events  have  taken  !" 

"Oh,  Ralph,  you  are  perfectly  incorrigible  !"  said  Miss 
Lane ;  but  Kittie,  more  accustomed  to  his  moods,  answered, 
very  demurely, — 

"Oh,  but  he  did  see  her,  brother  Ralph.  She  always 
went  to  town  with  us,  under  the  seat  of  the  rockaway!" 
This  raised  another  shout  of  merriment,  as  Miss  Kittie  was 


56  BEECHWOOD. 

swung  aloft  to  her  usual  seat  of  honor,  upon  Ralph's 
shoulder,  and  headed  the  procession  to  the  breakfast-room. 

"I  think  Kittie  has  monopolized  mamma's  honors  to- 
day," whispered  Gertie. 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie,  "and  I  think,  from  mamma's 
happy  face,  that  she  is  very  well  satisfied  it  should  be  so." 
And  then,  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  nice  muffins  and  coffee, 
we  relapsed  into  comparative  quiet ;  and  so  mamma's 
birthday  was  ushered  in.  Oh  that  we  may  all -assist  in 
celebrating  many  such  another  ! 

Aug.  23.  Aunt  Martha  came  yesterday ;  and,  as  usual 
/after  one  of  my  hasty  speeches,^  I  feel  a  little  twinge  of 
conscience  whenever  I  look  at  her,  as  she  sits  so  quietly 
knitting  by  the  drawing-room  window.  She  brought  a  pair 
of  socks  apiece  to  each  of  the  boys,  also  to  Uncle  Ralph, 
and  is  now  very  busy  knitting  dainty  little  soft  ones,  of 
bright-colored  wool,  for  Kittie's  wear  next  winter.  So  far 
everything  has  passed  very  pleasantly  and  quietly;  for  I 
expect  we  are  all  unusually  watchful  to  avoid  annoyance. 
The  only  thing  was,  last  evening,  when  she  saw,  through 
the  open  door,  Kittie  riding  through  the  hall  on  Ralph's 
shoulder,  she  looked  very  gravely  over  the  top  of  her  spec- 
tacles, and  said  to  mamma, — 

"Frances,  don't  you  think  Catherine  is  getting  quite  too 
large  to  be  lifted  about  like  that  upon  the  gentlemen's 
shoulders?" 

"No  one  does  it  but  Ralph,  Aunt  Martha,"  said  mam- 
ma, pleasantly;  "but  she  is  getting  rather  large,  I  tell  her, 
to  be  so  much  of  a  baby.  But  the  children  all  seem  afraid, 
I  believe,  that  she  will  get  beyond  being  their  plaything, 
and  so  they  encourage  her  in  her  baby  ways.  And  Ralph 
is  worse  than  any  of  them  about  it." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Aunt  Martha,  "maybe  they  are 
right,  after  all.  She  will  be  a  woman  soon  enough,  any- 


BEECIIWOOD. 


57 


way;  but  I  wouldn't  much  encourage  her  climbing  on  to 
Ralph's  shoulder  that  way,  anyhow." 

Mamma  wisely  changed  the  conversation,  and  Kittie 
still  rules.  Aunt  Martha  seems  much  gentler  than  she 
ever  did  before :  her  visit  may  be  one  of  pleasure,  after  all. 
Can  it  be  that  my  own  resolution  to  be  more  gentle  and 
forbearing  myself  could  make  me  think  that  she  is  so  ?  It 
may  be  so  :  who  knows? 

Aug.  24.  We  are  all  very  busy  these  days  getting  Ralph 
and  Charlie  ready  for  college  again.  Their  vacation  be- 
gan a  month  earlier  than  usual  this  year,  on  account  of  the 
smallpox  being  so  bad  in  the  neighborhood  that  mamma 
could  not  rest  till  their  return.  How  lonely  we  shall  all 
be  without  them  !  They  both  graduate  a  year  from  next 
June,  and  then  we  shall  be  so  happy  to  have  them  home 
for  good.  How  thankful  I  am  that  dear  mamma  prefers 
having  Gertie  and  me  educated  at  home  !  I  could  not  bear 
this  constant  absence  from  her.  The  boys  have  only  a  few 
days  more  now  to  remain  at  home  with  us.  Hal  Rjiy  goes 
at  the  same  time.  One  blessing  is,  they  are  not  so  far  but 
that  we  can  see  them  for  a  day  or  two  every  little  while. 
I  promised  mamma  to  help  her  pack  the  trunks ;  so  my 
entry  is  brief. 

-Aug.  25.  "  Frances,"  said  Aunt  Martha  to  mamma  this 
morning,  "I  think  you  do  very  wrong  to  allow  those  girls, 
Nancy  and  Gertrude,  so  much  time  for  play.  I  notice  them 
both  spend(twp  or  three  hours  every  day  at  the  piano,  sing- 
ing and  drumming,  and  running  their  fingers  from  one  end 
of  the  keys  to  the  other \  They  could  have  knit  themselves 
each  a  pair  of  stockings  apiece,  since  I  have  been  here, 
just  in  the  time  they  have  spent  in  that  way."  My  face 
flushed  indignantly,  and  I  whirled  round  on  the  piano- 
stool  with  an  angry  retort  on  my  tongue,  but  met  dear 
mamma's  eyes  fixed  on  me  with  such  a  pleading  look  that  I 

6 


58  BEECHWOOD. 

"  bottled  my  wrath,"  as  Ralph  would  say,  and  resumed  my 
practicing ;  while  mamma  replied,  very  quietly, — 

"That  is  part  of  their  studies,  you  know,  Aunt  Martha. 
They  are  required  to  spend  at  least  three  hours  every  day 
in  practicing  their  lessons." 

"  Nonsense  !  They  had  much  better  be  knitting  stock- 
ings to  keep  their  feet  warm  next  winter.  Music  is  a  very 
good  thing  to  dance  by,  in  pleasant  weather;  but  it  will 
not  warm  and  clothe  one." 

"I  can  buy  them  stockings  and  clothes,  you  know;  but 
knowledge  they  must  themselves  acquire ;  and  if  the  golden 
opportunity  is  lost  in  youth  it  is  seldom,  if  ever,  regained. 
Then,  too,  you  remember,  Aunt  Martha,  if  they  were  ever 
compelled  to  support  themselves  in  the  future,  they  could 
do  it  much  more  easily  by  teaching  music  than  by  knitting 
stockings ;  though  each,  I  confess,  it  is  well  to  understand 
at  the  proper  time.  But  it  is  useless  to  begin  anything 
without  endeavoring  to  become  proficient  in  it, — from 
knitting  a  stocking  to  playing  a  piano.  A  superficial 
knowledge  on  any  subject  is  almost  worse  than  none  at  all, 
simply  because  one  is  apt  to  have  wrong  views  on  any  sub- 
ject that  one  does  not  perfectly  understand,  and  conse- 
quently spoils  many  a  nice  thing  through  ignorance,  as 
Nannie  would  inevitably  do  at  present  with  Handel's  ora- 
torio, or  with  Kittie's  little  soft  stocking,  growing  so 
steadily  beneath  your  skillful  fingers, — skillful,  Aunt 
Martha,  through  long  and  patient  practice  with  your 
needles.  Hence  I  require  the  girls  to  practice  patiently 
and  persistently  at  their  music ;  and  so  I  shall  also  do  when 
they  learn  to  knit,  as  I  mean  to  have  them  both  some  day." 

"Well,  well,  I  suppose  you  are  right,  Frances.  I  must 
say  that  you  generally  are,  though  at  first  it  does  seem  you 
are  altogether  in  the  wrong." 

How  mamma's  pleasant  ways  and  gentle  words  do  sub- 


BEECHWOOD. 


59 


due  every  one  !  although  she  seldom  yields  a  point  she 
believes  to  be  right.  But  she  never  storms,  never  scolds, 
never  says  impatient  or  hasty  words  for  which  she  has 
afterward  to  "repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,"  but  presents 
the  matter  in  such  a  gentle,  dispassionate  manner  in  its 
true  light,  that  before  you  have  the  least  thought  of  being 
convinced,  you  see  that  she  is  right.  Now,  I  should  have 
stormed  right  out  at  Aunt  Martha, — something,  no  doubt, 
very  naughty, — have  been  called  "an  impertinent  chit"  for 
my  pains,  and  very  likely  have  gone  to  bed  in  disgrace. 
Why  cannot  I  profit  by  this  daily  example  of  beautiful  pa- 
tience before  me  so  constantly?  I  felt  this  all  so  forcibly, 
that  my  own  ugly  feelings  were  conquered ;  and  rising 
from  the  piano,  and  sitting  down  on  a  little  ottoman  at 
Aunt  Martha's  feet,  I  said,  very  humbly, — 

"  I  would  so  love  to  knit  as  beautifully  as  you  do,  Aunt 
Martha ;  and  if  mamma  will  let  me  learn,  I  will  get  you  to 
teach  me  this  very  day,  and  will  promise  not  to  let  it  inter- 
fere with  my  studies,  but  knit  when  I  have  no  other  duties 
to  perform.  May  I  learn,  mamma?" 

"  I  certainly  have  no  objection,  Nannie,  provided  you 
do  not  undertake  more  than  you  can  accomplish.  If  one 
undertakes  too  many  duties  at  once,  one  is  apt  to  neglect 
some  of  them." 

.  "  Well,  I  will  get  up  an  hour  earlier  every  morning  and 
study;  and  that  will  give  me  an  added  one  of  leisure 
during  the  day,  in  which  to  knit." 

.  "That  will  do,"  said  mamma.  "But,  remember,  what- 
ever you  begin  you  must  not  abandon  until  perfected.  If 
you  desire  to  learn  to  knit,  you  must  consider  it  one  of 
your  duties,  and  persevere  faithfully  until  you  understand 
it  well.  It  is  bad  policy  for  young  people  to  begin  a  thing 
to-day  with  great  enthusiasm,  and  weary  of  it  to-morrow, 
throwing  it  aside,  all  incomplete,  for  the  purpose  of  taking 


60  BEECHWOOD. 

up  something  else,  which  would  be  perhaps  as  soon  aban- 
doned for  some  other  thing  again.  It  teaches  vacillation, 
which  should  never  be  encouraged  in  the  young." 

"Is  that  the  reason,  mamma,  that  you  never  would  per- 
mit Gertie  or  me  to  begin  a  new  dress  for  our  dolls,  when 
we  were  little  girls,  till  we  had  finished  the  one  we  were 
already  making  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  dear." 

"  Well,  I  will  promise  not  to  abandon  the  knitting  till  I 
have  completed  a  pair  of  stockings  for  Kittie,  at  any  rate, 
that  Aunt  Martha's  critical  eyes  will  pronounce  wearable." 

"  On  those  conditions  you  may  learn." 

"And  now,  will  you  really  teach  me,  Aunt  Martha?" 

"Certainly,  my  dear.  I  am  glad  you  are  anxious  to 
learn  to  be  useful  as  well  as  accomplished," — a  sly  thrust  I 
did  not  think  it  best  to  notice.  So  to-morrow  morning  I 
am  to  take  my  first  lesson  in  knitting,  and  feel  that  to-day 
I  did  much  better  than  to  have  quarreled  with  Aunt  Martha. 

Aug.  26.  In  thinking  over  the  conversation  of  yester- 
day, I  cannot  but  notice  how  mamma  and  Uncle  Ralph 
both  give  practical  illustrations  of  a  principle  they  wish  to 
inculcate,  instead  of  trusting  to  precept  alone.  I  see  now 
clearly  why  mamma  was  always  so  firm  about  our  never 
beginning  any  new  piece  of  work  while  another,  still  in- 
complete, was  on  hand.  I  remember  so  well  how  she 
nearly  broke  Gertie's  heart  once  by  taking  a  new  doll- 
dress  she  had  begun  to  make,  and  putting  it  away  out  of 
sight  until  she  had  completed  a  little  bonnet  she  had  begun 
the  day  before.  Uncle  Ralph  always  does  the  same  way. 
I  well  remember  the  course  he  once  took  to  break  Ralph 
and  me  of  our  careless  habits.  Several  years  ago,  he  gave 
Ralph  a  beautiful  little  chest  of  carpenter's  tools, — every- 
thing complete  in  its  way,  saws,  hammers,  gimlets,  chisels, 
etc.  etc., — and  had  Joseph  clear  a  space  in  one  end  of  the 


BEECHWOOD.  6 1 

farm  workshop  for  his  especial  use.  Here  Ralph,  delighted, 
spent  several  hours  every  day,  fashioning  little  sleds  and 
wagons  and  wheelbarrows  for  himself  and  Charlie,  and  in- 
numerable bureaus  and  wash-stands  and  bedsteads  for 
Gertie's  and  my  own  play-house.  One  evening  he  took 
Uncle  Ralph  out,  after  tea,  to  show  him  a  wonderful  little 
wardrobe  he  had  made  that  day ;  and  Uncle  Ralph  was 
unsparing  of  the  praise  bestowed  upon  his  skill  as  a  work- 
man ;  but  more  than  once  I  saw  his  eyes  rest  on  the  almost 
empty  tool-chest, — for  Ralph  had  a  very  careless  habit  of 
leaving  his  tools  wherever  he  last  chanced  to  use  them, — 
and  noticed  him  two  or  three  times  pick  up  little  articles 
from  the  floor.  The  next  day,  when  Ralph  went  to  work 
at  his  bench,  first  his  saw,  then  his  hammer,  and  finally  his 
rule  and  best  chisel,  were  missing,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
abandon  work. 

"What  can  have  become  of  them?"  he  said  to  me,  in 
his  perplexity. 

"Perhaps  Uncle  Ralph  knows,"  I  suggested. 

"  Pshaw  !  He  wasn't  in  there  but  a  minute,  and  never 
touched  a  thing." 

It  was  several  days  before  Uncle  Ralph  came  again,  and 
still  the  tools  were  lost,  and  the  wardrobe  of  course  re- 
mained incomplete.  After  tea  he  made  some  excuse  to  go 
to  the  workshop,  and  we  children,  always  at  his  heels,  of 
course  accompanied  him. 

"Why,  Ralph,  how  is  this?  your  wardrobe  still  un- 
finished? Not  tired  of  work,  I  hope?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  poor  Ralph;  "but  I  have  lost  some  of 
my  tools,  and  I  cannot  finish  it  till  I  find  them." 

"Lost  some  of  your  tools?  How  does  that  happen? 
Ah,  I  see!"  glancing  first  at  the  empty  tool-chest,  and 
then  searchingly  around  the  room  to  where  in  different 
places  lay  chisels,  augers,  planes,  and  nails,  jus~t  as  it 

6* 


62  BEECHWOOD. 

chanced  to  be ;  some  half  hidden  under  a  pile  of  shavings, 
and  others  conspicuous  amid  chips  and  blocks  and  saw- 
dust they  had  helped  to  create.  "I  see  with  regret  that 
my  boy  lacks  one  of  the  most  essential  traits  of  a  good 
workman,  and  one  without  which  it  is  utterly  impossible 
ever  to  become  a  perfectly  successful  man." 

"Why,  Uncle  Ralph!  I  thought  you  told  me  I  used 
my  tools  so  well !" 

"  And  so  you  do,  my  boy;  but  the  most  skillful  work- 
man that  ever  lived  will  never  make  a  successful  business 
man  so  long  as  he  lacks  order  and  system.  You  may  set 
it  down  as  an  inevitable  fact  that  the  workman  who  allows 
his  tools  to  lie  scattered  carelessly  around  after  the  work  of 
the  day  is  over,  instead  of  carefully  replacing  them  in  his 
tool-chest,  will  live  and  die  a  poor  man.  Not  only  will  he 
lose  time  in  searching  for  them  when  needed,  that  would 
have  made  him  many  a  dollar,  but  he  is  forming  habits  that 
will  destroy  his  usefulness  for  life.  System  and  order  are 
the  foundations  of  success.  These  little  things  may  seem 
but  trifles  to  you,  Ralph;  but  believe  me,  trifles  are  the 
lower  rounds  in  the  ladder  to  honor  and  wealth,  and  you 
cannot  climb  to  the  top  unless  you  begin  at  the  very 
bottom." 

Ralph's  face  had  first  paled,  and  then  flushed  scarlet,  as 
Uncle  Ralph  proceeded,  and  he  now  began  to  carefully 
search  for,  and  gather  together,  his  different  tools,  and 
place  them  in  his  chest ;  and  when  he  had  found  all  but 
the  missing  ones,  he  stepped  up  bravely  to  Uncle  Ralph, 
and,  looking  into  his  face,  said,  earnestly, — 

"Uncle  Ralph,  I  intend  to  try  to  make  a  successful 
man." 

"  Bravo,  Ralph  !  Then  you  will  be  sure  to  be  one,  for 
few  try  earnestly  and  persistently  who  fail.  Now  let  us 
look  for  these  missing  tools,  and  then  I  think  I  must  tell 


BEECHWOOD.  63 

you  a  little  incident,  that  once  came  under  my  own  knowl- 
edge, to  show  the  importance  of  trifles." 

He  stepped  to  a  drawer  in  one  end  of  the  large  work- 
bench, and  opened  it,  and  there  lay  all  of  the  lost  tools  so 
long  and  earnestly  sought  for. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Ralph,  "  the  drawer  stood  open  the 
last  day  I  was  working,  and  I  must  have  laid  them  in  it 
myself  and  then  forgot  all  about  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Ralph;  "you  laid  them  in  it,  and 
I,  seeing  your  careless  habits,  shut  the  drawer,  hoping 
thereby  to  teach  you  a  lesson." 

"And  one  I  shall  not  soon  forget,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Ralph. 

"Nor  I !"  I  echoed.  Gertie  and  Charlie  said  nothing, 
for  they  are  both  as  particular  as  old  maids,  anyhow. 
Gertie  used  always  to  be  talking  to  me  about  hanging  up 
my  clothes  and  keeping  my  work-basket  in  order. 

"And  now  for  the  story,  Uncle  Ralph,"  said  Charlie. 

"Well,  there  were  once  two  men  who  worked  together 
in  the  same  shop,  both  steady  and  industrious  workmen, 
although  very  unlike  each  other  in  disposition.  One  was 
full  of  life  and  fun, — a  great  favorite  with  his  fellows, — but 
unfortunately  very  careless  in  his  habits,  always  losing  and 
mislaying  his  tools  and  having  to  borrow  from  his  neigh- 
bors ;  the  other  full  of  good  humor  also,  but  very  orderly 
and  systematic  in  all  he  did.  Their  work-benches  were 
adjoining,  and  they  were  fast  friends  always,  Dick,  the 
thoughtful  one,  often  talking  to  his  friend  Joe,  and  try- 
ing to  get  him  to  throw  aside  his  careless  ways,  which  he 
well  knew  would  keep  him  back  in  life,  in  spite  of  his 
skill,  for  he  was  the  best  workman  in  the  shop.  Joe  always 
laughed  good-naturedly,  and  said  he  meant  to  become  very 
systematic  some  day,  but  that  these  things  were  so  trifling 
that  he  could  not  take  time  to  attend  to  them  now. 


64  BEECIIWOOD. 

"'Why,  Dick,'  he  would  laughingly  say,  'I  get  home 
and  have  a  good  refreshing  bath  by  the  time  you  have 
your  tools  gathered  away  and  your  bench  in  order  for  the 
night.' 

"'Yes,'  Dick  would  respond;  'and  in  the  morning 
your  bench  is  full  of  chips  and  shavings,  and  half  of  your 
tools  mislaid,  and  I  have  had  a  good  half-hour's  work  be- 
fore you  are  ready  to  begin." 

"Well,  one  day  the  proprietor  of  the  shop,  who  was  a 
very  good  man,  came  in  and  said  that  he  had  had  a  call 
for  one  of  his  best  workmen  to  go  to  a  neighboring  city 
and  attend  to  some  very  choice  work  for  a  wealthy  old 
gentleman  who  was  a  friend  of  his, — that  the  wages  would 
be  large,  and  he  had  resolved  to  let  the  workman  upon 
whom  it  fell  have  the  full  benefit  of  it  all.  'And  now  who 
shall  it  be  ?' 

"  '  Joe  !  Joe  !  Joe  !'  came  from  all  sides  of  the  house. 

"'Well,'  said  the  proprietor,  'the  call  seems  unani- 
mous :  so  Joe,  I  suppose,  is  the  fortunate  man.  Gather  up 
your  tools,  my  man,  for  the  call  is  urgent,  and  the  train 
leaves  in  half  an  hour.  You  can  have  whatever  clothing 
you  need  sent  you  by  express,  for  the  old  gentleman  is  very 
eccentric,  and  will  not  brook  delay. ' 

"Joe  stammered  out  his  thanks,  and  began  to  gather  up 
his  tools  hurriedly.  But  first  he  had  a  hunt  for  his  square, 
then  for  one  of  his  chisels,  and  finally  he  remembered  he 
had  taken  his  small  plane  and  two  or  three  other  tools 
home,  to  do  a  little  job  for  a  neighbor,  the  night  before, 
had  got  to  talking,  and  had  forgotten  to  bring  them  back. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  His  home  was  full  a  mile  from  the 
shop,  and  he  could  not  possibly  go  without  them. 

"  '  Take  mine,'  said  Dick,  generously;  '  I  will  get  yours 
to-night  and  use  them  until  your  return.' 

"But  to  this  the  proprietor,  who  had  been  closely  ob- 


BEECHWOOD.  65 

serving  both  men  for  some  time,  would  not  consent,  but 
said, — 

"  '  No  :  Joe  must  suffer  the  consequences  of  his  own  care- 
lessness, which  I  have  long  observed  is  no  trifling  matter. 
Dick  must  go  in  his  place.' 

"Against  this  Dick  stoutly  protested,  but  to  no  avail; 
the  proprietor  was  resolute ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was 
on  his  way  to  the  situation  Joe  had  lost  through  his  care- 
less habits,  while  the  proprietor  said,  impressively,  as  he 
left  the  shop, — 

"  '  There  is  more  truth  than  jest  in  the  old  maxim,  "A 
good  workman  never  loses  his  tools." 

' '  Dick  found  everything  very  pleasant  at  the  old  gen- 
tleman's for  whom  he  was  working,  but  he  kept  feeling 
that  he  had  taken  Joe's  place,  and,  finding  there  was  a 
great  deal  to  do,  he  at  last  proposed  having  Joe  come 
and  assist  him.  To  this  the  old  man  consented  ;  and  after 
a  few  days  Joe  came,  full  of  life  as  ever,  and,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  very*  little  improved  in  his  careless  habits.  '  It  was 
only  his  luck,'  he  said ;  and  laughed,  and  worked,  and 
lost,  and  borrowed,  much  the  same  as  ever. 

"The  old  gentleman  for  whom  the  men  worked  was 
very  eccentric,  as  I  said,  and  spent  much  of  his  time  with 
them  while  they  were  at  work.  One  day  a  package  came 
from  home,  by  express,  for  Joe,  and  was  brought  directly 
to  the  shop  for  him.  Joe  cut  the  string,  a  narrow  tape, 
and,  unwinding  it  from  the  parcel,  threw  it  upon  the  floor. 

"  '  That  is  such  a  nice  string,  Joe;  why  don't  you  save 
it?'  said  Dick. 

"  '  Oh,  pshaw  !  don't  bother  me  about  such  trifles,'  said 
Joe,  unwrapping  a  nice  little  book  on  architecture,  for 
which  he  had  sent.  Dick  quietly  picked  up  the  string,  and, 
wrapping  it  into  a  little  ball,  placed  it  in  his  work-box. 
The  old  gentleman  seemed  much  pleased  with  Joe's  book, 


66  BEECHWOOD* 

but  did  not  fail  to  notice  Dick's  carefulness,  which  pleased 
him  greatly. 

"  The  weeks  slipped  by,  and  their  work  was  nearly  com- 
pleted, when  one  day  the  old  gentleman,  in  handling  a  very 
sharp  chisel  awkwardly,  let  it  fall  upon  his  foot,  severing 
a  large  artery,  from  which  the  blood  poured  so  profusely 
as  to  seriously  threaten  his  life  before  medical  aid  could 
be  procured. 

"  '  Quick,  quick,  boys !'  he  said,  'bandage  my  leg  above 
the  wound, — don't  wait  to  go  to  the  house, — anything  will 
do, — any  kind  of  string  !  Surely  there  is  one  some  place.' 

"  '  No,  there  is  nothing,'  said  Joe.  '  I  will  run  quickly 
to  the  house.'  But  Dick  said,  'Wait  a  minute, — I  have  a 
string,'  and  drew  from  his  tool-chest  the  identical  string  Joe 
had  flung  so  contemptuously  away.  With  this  they  tied  a  tight 
ligature  above  the  wound,  that  checked  in  a  measure  the 
great  flow  of  blood  till  they  could  carry  him  to  the  house. 

"  The  loss  of  blood  weakened  the  old  gentleman  greatly ; 
and  the  doctors  said  but  for  the  prompt  manner  of  binding 
his  limb  he  must  have  bled  to  death  in  spite  of  them.  He 
was  unable  to  leave  his  room  for  some  time,  and  fancied 
no  one  could  wait  on  him  so  cleverly  as  Dick.  One  day, 
after  he  had  performed  several  little  offices  for  him,  he 
said, — 

"  '  Dick,  you  have  never  told  me  anything  of  your  pa- 
rents.' 

"  'They  both  died  years  ago,'  said  Dick,  reverently. 

"  'And  your  brothers  and  sisters?' 

"  '  Have  only  one,  sir, — a  sister, — who  was  married  last 
summer.' 

"'Ah!  well,'  said  the  old  man,  with  much  apparent 
satisfaction,  'that  settles  it,  then.  How  would  you  like, 
Dick,  to  live  with  me  always  and  relieve  me  of  my  many 
cares  ?  I  am  getting  old,  and  need  a  trusty,  careful,  provi- 


BEECHWOOD.  67 

dent  fellow  —  such  as  I  am  convinced  by  close  observa- 
tion that  you  are — to  stay  near  me  always  and  see  after 
my  interests.  Will  you  come?' 

"  Dick  was  touched  by  the  old  man's  kindly  interest,  and 
readily  undertook  the  duties  desired.  And  he  so  grew 
into  favor  by  his  industry  and  careful  habits  in  all  things 
that  at  his  death  a  few  years  afterward  the  old  gentleman 
left  him  joint  heir  with  his  only  daughter — between  whom 
and  Dick  had  grown  up  a  strong  attachment — to  all  of  his 
property,  which  was  immense.  He  afterward  married  the 
daughter,  and  to-day  is  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most 
honored  members  in  the  community  of  C ." 

"And  all,"  said  Charlie,  't^or  taking  care  of  his  tools 
and  saving  a  stringj)" 

"All,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  laughing,  "for  acquiring 
habits  of  order  and  carefulness,  in  his  boyhood,  and  be- 
lieving, as^L^dp  most  sincerely,  that  there"  are  no  such 
things  as  trifles  in  our  daily  life.  Those  we  account  such 
are  often  the  stepping-stones  to  the  most  important  events 
in  our  lives,  as,  for  instance,  the  saving  of  that  string,  with- 
out which  the  old  gentleman  would  probably  have  died,  and 
so,  of  course,  Dick's  future  been  altogether  changed." 

Uncle  Ralph's  talk  had  a  great  influence  upon  both 
Ralph  and  myself.  I  remember  going  directly  to  my  room 
upon  coming  into  the  house,  and  hanging  up  my  dressing- 
gown,  which  I  had  thrown,  as  usual,  upon  a  chair,  gath- 
ering up  my  slippers,  one  of  which  was  under  the  bed  and 
the  other  beneath  a  table  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
and  setting  them  in  their  proper  place  in  the  bottom  of  the 
wardrobe,  and  then  sitting  down  to  right  my  work-basket, 
a  glance  at  which,  Gertie  said,  would  have  been  enough  to 
have  frightened  a  less  resolute  heart  than  mine.  I  did  not 
conquer  my  careless  habits  without  a  severe  struggle;  but 
mamma  says  now  I  am  almost  as  nice  as  Gertie  about  my 


68  BEECHWOOD. 

things;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for  she  is  perfection 
itself. 

Sometimes  even  yet,  when  in  great  haste,  I  feel  disposed 
to  throw  a  garment  aside  or  leave  a  drawer  disarranged  till 
my  return  ;  but  have  learned  to  be  very  resolute  with  my- 
self, and  when  even  half-way  down -stairs  will  stop  short 
and  say  very  resolutely  to  myself,  "Now,  Nannie  Cleve, 
you  may  just  walk  right  straight  back  to  your  room  and 
leave  it  in  perfect  order  before  you  go  a  step  farther ;"  and 
then,  you  know,  I  am  not  half  so  apt  to  forget  the  next 
time.  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  written  this  out  at  length 
thus  in  my  journal,  only  mamma's  conversation  yesterday 
recalled  it  all  so  forcibly  to  mind  that  I  could  not  re- 
frain from  recording  it  here. 

I  don't  know  what  mamma  would  say,  either,  if  she  knew 
I  sat  writing  till  after  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  for  she  al- 
ways desires  us  to  retire  by  ten  o'clock,  and  above  all  things 
to  be  punctual  in  our  habits  of  rising  and  retiring.  I  must 
not  thus  infringe  upon  her  rules  again,  for  I  know  she  is 
right  in  whatever  she  requires,  however  much  we  may 
desire  to  have  it  otherwise  at  the  time.  She  makes  but 
few  rules  for  us ;  but  those  she  always  expects  us  to  conform 
to  without  any  questions. 

Aug.  31.  Ralph  and  Charlie  left  us  yesterday,  and  the 
house  seems  lonely  and  deserted  enough,  now  they  are  gone. 
One  never  knows  how  much  they  love  their  friends,  I  think, 
until  they  are  separated  from  them.  It  seems  to  me  now, 
if  I  could  only  have  my  brothers  with  me  always,  I  should 
never  feel  impatient  or  irritable  with  them,  no  matter  what 
they  might  do.  Charlie  did  not  seem  quite  well ;  and  I 
see  that  mamma  feels  a  little  anxious  about  him,  as  the 
weather  is  very  warm.  Ralph  seemed  full  of  life  as  ever, 
though  I  noticed  that  he  choked  up  a  little  as  he  unloosed 
Kittie's  little  fat  arms  from  about  his  neck,  at  the  last 


BEECIIWOOD.  69 

moment.  They  will  be  at  home  two  weeks  at  Christmas : 
so  that  we  live  on  that  hope.  Hal  Ray  started  at  the  same 
time.  He  and  Nettie  came  over  and  spent  the  evening 
with  us  the  day  before  they  started.  They  have  been 
traveling  part  of  the  summer  with  their  cousin  Ellis  Ray, 
so  that  we  have  not  seen  as  much  of  them  as  usual  for  the 
last  few  weeks.  Poor  Nettie  !  How  sorry  I  feel  for  her  ! 
for  she  has  had  no  mother  since  she  was  ten  years  old.  A 
maiden  aunt  keeps  house  for  her  father,  who  loves  both 
Hal  and  Nettie  dearly,  but  she  is  so  quiet  you  would  never 
know  she  was  about  the  house  unless  you  saw  her.  <£)h, 
what  would  I  do  without  my  precious  mother^)  If  I 
ever  do  make  anything  of  a  woman,  it  will  all  be  owing 
to  her  unfailing,  untiring  care.  (&nd  how  ill  do  I  repay 
it  alllj 

Sept.  12.  Kittie — our  dear  little,  bright,  playful  Kittie — 
is  ill, — I  fear,  very  ill.  She  was  taken  violently  sick  several 
nights  ago,  and  though  we  called  in  the  best  medical  aid 
at  once,  and  have  given  her  every  care  and  attention,  she 
seems  to  grow  slowly  worse,  in  spite  of  all  we  can  do.  I 
dare  not  think  where  it  may  end.  Oh,  Kittie  !  our  precious 
little  darling !  what  would  home  be  without  your  presence? 

I  pray  God  to  be  merciful  to  us. 

Sept.  19.  Kittie  is  very  low  indeed.  She  has  typhoid 
fever.  The  doctors  encourage  us  to  hope  for  the  best ;  but 
it  is  evident  they  feel  very  anxious  indeed.  Poor  mamma 
will  not  leave  her  a  moment ;  and  her  pale,  sweet  face, 
though  very  calm,  wears  an  anxious,  yearning  look  upon  it 
I  have  never  seen  there  before.  I  asked  her  this  evening 
if  she  did  not  think  Kittie  seemed  a  little  better,  and  she 
shook  her  head  sadly,  and  said  she  feared  not.  And  when 
I  sobbed  out,  in  spite  of  myself,  "Oh,  mamma,  what  will 
we  do  if  Kittie  dies?"  she  grew  very  white  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  calmly,  laying  her  hand  upon  my  shoulder 

7 


7o  BEECHWOOD. 

tenderly,  "We  must  trust  in  God,  Nannie,  and  never  for- 
get that  he  will  not  needlessly  afflict  us." 

And  as  she  stole  back  into  Kittie's  room,  with  that 
patient  look  of  suffering  upon  her  face,  I  dropped  invol- 
untarily upon  my  knees,  and  sobbed  aloud, — 

"  O  blessed  Father  !  give  me  of  that  heavenly  grace  my 
mother  has,  that  I  may  aid  her  to  bear  this  terrible  suffer- 
ing, instead  of  increasing  it  by  my  own  sorrow.  Oh,  take 
me,  in  the  midst  of  my  many  imperfections,  and  make  me 
a  Christian,  true  and  earnest." 

I  thought  I  was  alone,  until  I  turned  to  go  from  the 
room,  when  I  saw  Uncle  Ralph,  lying,  with  his  face  covered, 
upon  a  lounge,  where  he  had  evidently  dropped  for  a  little 
rest,  for  he  stays  with  us  constantly  during  Kittie's  illness, 
and  carries  her  nearly  all  night,  which  is  her  worst  time,  in 
his  arms. 

I  hope  he  was  asleep.  Not  that  I  am  ashamed  of  what  I 
said,  but  I  do  not  wish  him  to  think  I  could  unveil  my  secret 
heart  so  in  the  presence  of  any  one  but  God. 

Sept.  21.  Kittie  begs  so  much  to  see  Ralph  and 
Charlie  that  mamma  has  concluded  to  send  for  them.  I 
see  they  all  fear  the  worst.  She  has  had  to  lose  all  of  her 
beautiful  hair, — the  fever  affects  her  brain  so  much, — and 
now  only  innumerable  golden  rings  cover  her  little  head. 
As  mamma  cut  the  long,  sunny  curls  off,  one  by  one,  to- 
day, that  we  all  so  tenderly  loved,  Kittie  would  take  each 
one  in  her  little  thin  hands,  and  look  at  it  a  moment,  and 
then  say,  "That  is  for  you,  Gertie," — or,  "That  is  for 
you,  Nannie,"  handing  them  to  us;  or,  "That  is  for 
brother  Ralph,  or  Charlie,  when  they  come."  And  so  she 
went  on,  giving  each  one  present  one,  till  poor  mamma 
could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  the  tears  fell  upon  the  dear, 
trembling  hands,  trying  so  hard  to  do  their  task.  Kittie, 
intent  upon  her  own  sweet  thoughts,  did  not  at  first  observe 


BEECHWOOD.  71 

it,  and  finally  said,  "There  now,  all  the  rest  are  for 
mamma,"  when,  looking  up,  she  saw  the  tearful  face  above 
her,  and,  with  a  half-grieved,  half-surprised  look,  put  up 
her  little  hands  and  wiped  the  tears  away,  and  whispered, 
"Shouldn't  Kittie  have  given  them  away,  mamma?" 

"Yes,  darling.  Mamma  was  very  wrong  to  cry  because 
she  had  to  cut  off  your  beautiful  curls;  she  will  be  good 
now;"  and  in  a  moment  she  was  her  own  brave  self  again. 
Kittie  seemed  only  half  satisfied ;  but  as  mamma's  sweet 
smile,  always  ready  for  her,  from  time  to  time  reassured 
her,  she  soon  dropped  off  into  a  quiet  slumber,  from  which 
we  hope  the  best  again.  I  have  only  now  left  her  sleeping, 
mamma  insisting  that  Gertie  and  I  shall  retire  early  every 
night,  as  we  can  do  no  good,  she  says,  at  present,  and 
after  awhile  our  strength  may  be  needed.  It  is  very 
hard  for  us  to  leave  them  thus,  but  mamma  is  positive, 
and  promises  to  call  us  should  she  get  much  worse;  so 
that  we  are  constrained  to  obey.  It  surprises  me  to  see 
how  constantly  cheerful  mamma  is,  in  the  midst  of  the 
anxiety  that  I  know  is  eating  at  her  heart.  She  always 
turns  a  bright,  happy  face  to  Kittie,  who  watches  her  very 
closely  all  of  the  time ;  sings  to  her  softly  whenever  she 
wishes  it,  as  she  often  does,  when  restless  ;  and  is  always 
ready  to  tell  her  cheerful  little  stories,  in  a  low  voice, 
whenever  she  has  a  little  respite  from  suffering.  .How  won- 
derful, how  passing  wonderful,  is  a  mother's  love  \ 

Sept.  23.  Ralph  and  Charlie  arrived  late  this  evening. 
They  were  both  shocked  and  grieved  at  Kittie's  changed 
appearance.  She  seemed  considerably  excited,  and  very 
glad  to  see  them,  and  will  not  leave  Ralph's  arms  a  minute. 
She  says  to  Uncle  Ralph,  half  apologetically, — 

"You  know  he  has  been  gone  so  long,  Uncle  Ralph, 
and  you  have  carried  me  so  much."' 

She  seems  to  feel  easier  when  carried  around  than  in  any 


72 


BEECHWOOD. 


other  way  :  so  Uncle  Ralph  has  carried  her,  with  her  head 
upon  a  little  pillow,  on  his  arm,  night  after  night,  for  hours. 
She  will  often  beg  him  to  lay  her  down,  feeling  how  weari- 
some even  her  light  weight  must  be,  but  he  soon  lifts  her 
up  again,  when  he  sees  the  restless  look  of  suffering  on  her 
face.  Oh,  he  is  so  patient  and  good.  And  what  a  world 
of  comfort  he  has  been  to  us  through  all  these  weary  days  ! 
so  calm  and  strong,  and  at  the  same  time  so  loving  and 
tender.  We  all  look  to  him,  cling  to  him,  as  we  could  to 
no  other.  I  do  not  think  Charlie  seems  quite  well,  though 
he  will  not  acknowledge  that  he  is  sick.  It  would  be 
dreadful  if  he  too  should  get  sick,  and  Kittie  so  low.  But, 
as  dear  mamma  says,  "  God  is  merciful ;  let  us  not  borrow 
trouble."  I  must  try  to  rest  and  save  my  strength,  for,  as 
mamma  truly  says,  "It  may  be  needed." 

Sept.  25.  Dear  little  Kittie  has  failed  sadly  in  the  last 
few  days.  Her  little  face  looks  so  wan  and  white,  and  her 
blue  eyes  so  heavy.  She  talks  very  little,  and  eats  almost 
nothing.  Ralph  and  Uncle  Ralph  carry  her  almost  all  the 
time  in  their  arms,  except  when  mamma  rocks  and  soothes 
her,  with  her  dear  little  sunny  head — so  aching  and  so 
weary — pillowed  upon  her  breast.  We  have  her  little  bed 
in  the  sitting-room  down-stairs  since  her  illness ;  it  is  much 
pleasanter  on  many  accounts.  To-day  she  said  to  Uncle 
Ralph,  very  feebly, — 

"  Please  carry  me  into  the  parlor,  Uncle  Ralph ;  I  want 
to  see  Kittie." 

He  carried  her,  very  gently,  across  the  hall  into  the 
parlors,  and  she  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  beautiful 
painting  of  herself, — Uncle  Ralph's  gift  to  mamma  on  her 
birthday ;  then  she  said, — 

"  It  does  not  look  like  Kittie  now,  Uncle  Ralph." 

"It  will  when  your  curls  grow  long  again,  darling,"  he 
replied. 


BEECHWOOD. 


73 


She  did  not  answer  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, — 

"Will  you  please  ask  mamma  to  let  me  have  that  same 
dress  on  again?" 

"When,  Kittie?    To-day?" 

"No;  not  to-day.  Some  day,  when  God  calls  me. 
Kittie  wants  to  look  sweet  when  she  goes  to  see  papa  and 
God." 

"Oh,  Kittie, — darling!"!  cried;  but  Uncle  Ralph 
checked  me  by  a  look, — we  two  were  alone  with  her, — 
and  said,  very  tenderly, — 

"Kittie  does  not  want  to  leave  us  yet,  does  she?" 

"  No ;  only  I  think  papa  wants  to  see  me, — Kittie 
dreamed  he  did.  I  am  so  tired;  please  take  me  back  to 
mamma;"  and  the  little  eyes  drooped  wearily. 

He  carried  her  away,  and  I  sat  down  and  cried  bitterly. 
My  darling  little  sister,  our  pride,  our  sunbeam, — my 
heart  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  giving  her  up.  Presently 
Uncle  Ralph  returned,  and,  sitting  down  upon  the  sofa 
beside  me,  drew  my  head  gently  to  his  shoulder,  and, 
smoothing  the  hair  from  my  heated,  tearful  face,  wiped 
softly  the  tears  away,  and  said, — 

"  We  must  not  grieve  too  much,  darling,  at  the  sad  loss 
I  fear  we  are  all  to  sustain.  God  knows  best,  and  he  never 
needlessly  afflicts." 

"Oh,  but  she  is  so  precious,  Uncle  Ralph,"  I  sobbed; 
"so  precious  !  so  precious  !" 

"Yes,  darling,  very,  very  precious  to  us  all ;  hence  how 
tenfold  so  must  she  be  to  her  mother's  heart !  We  must 
try  and  be  strong  for  her  sake,  or  the  burden  may  prove 
heavier  than  she  can  bear.  This  I  am  sure  my  Nannie  can 
and  will  do ;  for  God  cannot  fail  to  hear  and  answer,  in 
part  at  least,  the  earnest,  beautiful  prayer  that"  sprang  so 
fervently  from  her  heart  a  few  mornings  ago." 

Then  he  had  not  been  asleep, — had  heard  it  all.  I  could 
7* 


74 


BEECHWOOD. 


not  answer  him,  did  not  try  to  ;  my  present  sorrow  was 
too  great  to  let  me  care  for  other  things.  He  pressed  his 
cheek  caressingly  against  my  forehead,  as  my  head  still  lay 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  added,  oh,  so  tenderly, — 

"I  am  glad  you  thought  yourself  alone  that  day,  else  I 
should  never  have  known  how,  from  the  very  depths  of  her 
pure  young  heart,  my  darling  desired  to  do  right.  And  I 
am  sure  she  will  see  this  morning  how  necessary  is  self- 
control  for  that  dear  mother's  sake,  and  how  perfect  sub- 
mission to  the  will  of  our  always-merciful  Father  will  make 
this  trial  even  tenfold  lighter  to  herself.  Look  beyond  the 
shadow,  Nannie,  look  beyond  the  shadow  to  the  beautiful 
land  of  love  and  light  toward  which  the  angels  are  so  rap- 
idly bearing  our  darling.  I  will  not  conceal  it  from  you: 
dear  little  Kittie  has  but  a  few  hours  to  live,  and  I  have 
come  to  you  now  to  prepare  you  for  it,  that  you  may  be 
calm  when  the  trial  comes,  for  your  precious  mother's  sake. 
Go  to  your  room  now  and  rest  a  little,  my  child ;  and  will 
you  ask  our  Father  anew  for  strength?  Will  you  try,  dar- 
ling, as  you  never  tried  before,  to  take  from,  instead  of 
adding  to,  your  mother's  care?" 

He  had  both  of  my  hands  in  his,  and  looked  me  earnestly, 
tenderly,  in  the  face.  I  answered  him,  as  well  as  my  trem- 
bling voice  would  let  me,  "I  will,  Uncle  Ralph,  indeed  I 
will,"  and  hastened  to  my  room. 

I  went  in  earnest  faith  to  our  Father,  and  prayed  as  I 
never  in  my  life  prayed  before ;  and,  oh,  how  mercifully 
he  has  heard  me  !  I  arose,  bathed  my  face  and  arranged 
my  hair,  and  went  below  to  mamma  and  Kittie  ;  and  all 
through  this  sad,  anxious  day  I  have  felt  a  calm,  a  holy 
peace,  such  as  never  was  given  me  before.  It  is  such  a  sad 
pleasure,  too,  to  see  how  Uncle  Ralph  relies  on  me  ;  and 
the  neighbors,  who  are  in,  come  to  me  for  everything, 
instead  of  disturbing  dear  mamma ;  and  even  she  herself 


BEECHWOOD. 


75 


now  says  to  them,  "Nannie  will  show  you,"  or  "Nannie 
will  see  to  it,"  instead  of  being  afraid  to  have  me  around 
lest  I  could  not  control  my  sorrow.  Oh,  if  we  could  only 
always  remember  that  other  sorrows  are  heavier  than  our 
own,  we  would  not  always,  I  think,  be  so  selfish  in  indulging 
ourselves,  but  would  partly  forget  our  own  grief  in  striving 
to  lighten  that  of  others. 

Sept.  30.  It  is  all  over.  We  have  no  longer  our  little 
Kittie,  for  God  has  taken  her.  Said  I,  "no  longer"? 
Oh,  no,  I  did  not  mean  that,  for  she  is  ours, — ours  always, 
forever  !  As  Uncle  Ralph  beautifully  says, — 

"  She  has  only  cross'd  the  river, 

She  has  only  gone  Before, 
To  that  land  of  light  and  beauty 
Where  she  suffers  nevermore. 

"  She  has  only  cross'd  the  river, 

With  its  glittering,  golden  strand  ; 
And  the  sunlight  fadeth  never, 
Where  the  angel-watchers  stand. 

"  She  has  only  cross'd  the  river, 

To  the  Saviour's  loving  breast, 
Where,  secure  from  pain  and  sorrow, 
She  for  evermore  shall  rest. 

"  There  some  day  we  hope  to  meet  her, 

When  the  toils  of  life  are  o'er, 
When  our  feet  shall  pass  the  river 
That  our  loved  one  cross'd  before." 

She  died  at  sunrise  last  Thursday  morning,  the  day  after 
my  last  entry.  I  begged  so  earnestly  to  be  permitted  to 
stay  up  that  night  that  mamma  at  last  consented  to  let  me 
be  awakened  at  one  o'clock,  which  was  done,  so  that  I  was 
near  our  darling  during  all  her  last  hours.  She  slept  till 
about  three  in  the  morning,  and  then  opened  her  eyes  and 
asked  for  mamma.  She  was  lying  in  her  little  crib,  for  she 


76  BEECHWOOD. 

had  grown  so  weak  she  could  not  bear  to  be  moved.   "  Here 
I  am,  darling,"  was  mamma's  quick  response,  for  she  was 
sitting  close  beside  her.     "What  does  Kittie  want  ?" 
"Where  is  papa?     Kittie  thought  he  was  here." 
"  No,  darling,"  said  mamma,  "  he  is  not  here." 
"  I  dreamed  he  was  carrying  Kittie  in  his  arms,"  she 
said,  and  dropped  off  again  into  a  light  slumber. 

I  saw  mamma's  features  work  painfully  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  hot  tears  fell  silently  over  her  pale  cheeks,  but 
she  never  spoke  a  word.  I  thought  it  would  break  my 
heart  to  see  her  suffer  so.  I  went  and  sat  down  upon  a  low 
stool  at  her  feet  and  pressed  my  lips  upon  her  dear  hand. 
She  took  my  hand  in  hers  and  pressed  it  gratefully ;  and  so 
we  sat  together,  watching  the  precious  little  life  slipping 
so  surely  away  from  our  midst.  I  felt  that  it  comforted 
mamma  to  have  me  there,  so  I  did  not  move,  although  I 
felt  sometimes  as  though  I  would  die  if  I  could  not  yield  to 
my  feelings,  which  I  would  not  do  in  her  presence. 

At  last  the  morning  dawned.  I  watched  the  gray  light 
through  the  open  window,  creeping  up  the  sky  and  bringing 
out,  faintly  at  first  and  then  more  and  more  distinctly,  the 
different  objects  that  before  had  lain  in  shadow,  and  little 
Kittie  still  slept.  Then  the  first  rosy  tints  crept  up  the 
horizon,  and  the  fleecy,  vapory  clouds  that  slept  in  the 
east  grew  beautiful  beneath  its  soft  touch,  and  wreathed 
themselves  into  myriad  fantastic  forms  that  looked  like  the 
temples  and  domes  and  walls  of  a  great  city.  I  watched 
them  changing  and  flitting,  until  my  mind  half  sped  away 
from  our  sorrowful  home  ;  and,  as  the  first  golden  beams  of 
the  morning  sun  shot  athwart  the  rosy  splendor,  tinting  with 
a  line  of  burnished  gold  the  walls  and  gates  of  my  imaginary 
city,  I  thought  of  the  eternal  city  whose  walls  are  of ' '  jasper 
and  gold."  There  was  a  slight  movement  in  the  crib;  the 
little  arms  were  thrown  up  a  moment,  the  sweet  blue  eyes 


BEECHWOOD.  77 

unclosed  for  a  last  look  of  earth,  the  dear  lips  tried  to 
whisper  "mamma;"  then  there  was  silence.  Oh,  such 
silence  for  a  moment  as  death  only  brings ! — broken,  at 
length,  by  the  low  anguished  wail,  "My  baby,  oh,  my 
baby  !"  As  the  terrible  strain  suddenly  removed,  mamma's 
head  dropped  forward  upon  the  crib,  almost  as  lifeless  as 
the  little  form  from  which  the  pure  spirit  had  fled  upward, 
on  the  first  ray  of  sunlight,  to  God. 

And  now  she  is  sleeping — our  precious  Kittie — under 
the  green  sod,  that  every  morning  we  cover  with  freshly- 
blown  flowers, — sleeping  peacefully  and  quietly  in  her  little 
grave,  so  tiny,  so  precious  !  It  is  a  very  little  mound,  and 
the  form  it  covers  is  almost  a  baby's ;  but  oh  !  the  place 
left  vacant  in  our  home  and  hearts,  who  can  fill  ?  Mamma 
was  very  ill  for  a  few  days  after  Kittie' s  death ;  but  she  is 
better  now,  and  carries  her  pale  face,  in  and  out,  about  her 
daily  duties,  with  a  look  that  tells  of  patient  submission  as 
well  as  sorrow.  When  Uncle  Ralph  would  have  borne  her 
from  the  room,  the  morning  Kittie  died,  she  rallied  from 
her  swoon,  and  begged  for  a  few  moments  alone  with 
Kittie,  which  I  am  sure  she  spent  in  prayer  beside  her. 
Then  with  her  own  hands  she  bathed  and  dressed  our  little 
darling  for  the  last  time;  brushed  the  sunny  curls  that 
clustered  about  her  waxen  face ;  laid  her,  in  an  attitude  of 
repose,  half  covered  with  lilies  of  the  valley  and  tiny  half- 
blown  roses,  first  in  her  cradle-bed,  and  afterward  in  the 
casket  prepared  to  receive  the  treasured  form.  This,  Uncle 
Ralph  had  had  softly  cushioned,  and  lined  with  the  purest 
white  satin,  and,  unlike  any  I  have  ever  seen  before,  made 
to  resemble  a  dainty  little  cradle,  so  that  the  precious  child 
looked  as  though  she  had  just  fallen  asleep  in  her  downy 
crib,  and  we  were  spared  the  sight  of  that  rigid,  unlifelike 
appearance  that  renders  death  so  terrible.  Mamma  never 
speaks  of  Kittie;  but  when  she  chances  upon  a  book  or 


78  BEECHWOOD. 

toy  made  sacred  by  the  touch  of  little  fingers,  I  have  seen 
her  hastily  leave  the  room,  with  a  look  upon  her  face  that, 
to  those  who  know  her  well,  tells  of  suffering  in  her  own 
room,  too  sacred  to  be  looked  upon,  save  alone  by  God. 
She  is  always  cheerful  when  with  us,  neglecting  no  duty, 
but  conversing  cheerfully  and  pleasantly  on  all  topics  that 
have  interest  for  others.  Ralph  and  Charlie  yesterday 
returned  to  college.  Charlie  is  evidently  not  well,  and 
mamma  was  very  unwilling  he  should  go  back ;  but  I  think 
he  could  not  bear  to  see  Ralph  go  without  him,  now  that 
home  is  so  desolate  :  so  they  have  gone  together. 

Aunt  Martha,  too, — how  can  I  write  of  her  untiring 
care  and  kindness  during  Kittie's  illness,  and  also  while 
mamma  was  confined  to  her  room  ?  All  her  harshness  was 
gone ;  and  no  one  could  have  been  more  gentle  and  lova- 
ble than  was  she.  Hereafter,  change  as  she  may,  I  shall 
always  love  and  honor  her,  for  dear  little  Kittie's  sake. 
She  constituted  herself  cook  for  the  sick-room  ;  and  no  wish 
the  dear  child  could  express  was  deemed  too  difficult  for  her 
to  accomplish.  And  although  her  most  delicate  and  tempt- 
ing dishes  were  returned  to  her  with  scarcely  a  morsel 
touched,  she  was  ready  at  any  instant,  day  or  night,  to  try 
again  and  again,  if  she  might  not  tempt  the  capricious  ap- 
petite. And  dear  little  Kittie  would  eat  nothing  that  Aunt 
Martha  had  not  prepared.  And  as  I  have  watched  her 
bending  over  the  hot  stove  at  midday,  above  some  delicate 
mixture,  jealous  if  any  hand  but  her  own  even  touched  the 
spoon,  I  have  thought  again  and  again  to  myself  how  little 
we  may  know  of  the  heart  from  external  manners  or  ap- 
pearance, and  blamed  myself  over  and  over  for  my  former 
harsh  judgment  of  Aunt  Martha. 

Oct.  2.  "Sorrows,  like  ravens,  never  come  singly." 
To-day  Uncle  Ralph  had  a  telegram  saying  that  Charlie 
was  very  ill ;  and  he  and  mamma  left  on  this  evening  train, 


BEECHWOOD. 


79 


to  bring  him  home,  if  able  to  be  moved ;  if  not,  to  remain 
with  him  till  he  is  better.  I  feel  very  anxious  indeed.  Now 
God  forbid  that  death  again  enter  our  already  broken  home- 
circle  !  I  am  very  miserable  at  the  thought. 

Oct.  5.  Charlie  is  very  ill  indeed,  Uncle  Ralph  writes, 
and  mamma  bearing  up  with  the  same  wonderful  strength 
she  manifested  all  through  Kittie's  illness.  Our  home  is 
very  desolate.  Gertie  and  I  wander  about  the  house  and 
through  the  orchard  and  garden,  unable  to  settle  ourselves 
either  at  work  or  study.  If  it  were  not  for  Aunt  Martha, — 
poor,  misjudged  Aunt  Martha,  once  so  disliked,  now  our 
only  comfort, — I  do  not  know  what  we  would  do.  'She  has 
ever  a  word  of  comfort  for  us,  and  sees  so  kindly  to  the 
many  things  that  in  our  anxiety  we  utterly  forget  and  neg- 
lect. We  cling  to  her  almost  as  we  would  to  mamma.  Oh, 
if  we  only  could  know  how  dear  Charlie  is !  How  terrible 
is  this  suspense  ! 

Oct.  6.  I  am  utterly  miserable  to-night.  No  word  from 
Uncle  Ralph ;  and  we  know  not  whether  to  hope  or  de- 
spair. Gertie  has  more  fortitude  than  I.  She  is  so  much 
like  mamma.  She  bears  her  grief  silently,  while  I  burst 
out  into  impatient  and  sorrowful  ejaculations.  We  have 
just  been  to  dear  little  Kittie's  grave,  to  place  fresh  immor- 
telles upon  the  sod.  Can  it  be  our  hearts  are  to  be  opened 
afresh  ? — that — oh,  Charley,  my  brother  ! — I  cannot  write 
it !  It  is  too  dreadful  to  contemplate. 

Oct.  10.  Uncle  Ralph  writes  us:  "The  crisis  in  our 
dear  boy's  life  is  at  hand.  He  has  had  several  days  of 
raving  and  delirium,  and  now  he  has  fallen  into  a  deep 
sleep,  which  will  probably  last  for  hours,  and  from  which, 
the  physicians  say,  he  will  either  awake  to  life,  or  sink 
rapidly.  Let  us  pray,  my  dear  girls,  that  it  be  not  the 
latter.  I  have  written  you  thus,  that  you  may  be  prepared 
for  either  event.  He  is  very  low,  very  low  indeed ;  but 


8o  BEECHWOOD. 

God  is  merciful  and  powerful.  All  we  can  now  do  is  to 
wait  patiently  and  submissively,  and  pray  that  it  be  well. 
I  will  write  you  again  immediately  upon  any  change  in 
his  condition.  Be  brave  and  hopeful,  and,  above  all, 
cheerfully  submissive ;  nothing  else  will  enable  you  to  bear 
sorrow  when  it  falls  heavily." 

Oh,  how  easy  for  Uncle  Ralph  so  to  write,  but  how  hard 
for  us  to  obey  !  We  can  do  nothing  but  go  from  the  house 
to  the  garden,  from  the  garden  to  the  orchard,  and  from 
the  orchard  back  to  the  house  again ;  and  there  we  wander 
from  room  to  room,  aimless  and  desolate.  The  sun  is 
shining  brightly,  and  the  pale  autumn  flowers  are  blooming ; 
but  a  shadow  comes  ever  between  us  and  the  sunlight ;  and 
the  robin's  song  in  the  lilac  near  the  window  has  a  mourn- 
ful cadence  I  have  never  heard  before.  I  look  at  Gertie, 
and  say,  falteringly,  "Oh  !  Gertie,  Charlie  may  be  dying." 
She  turns  her  pale  face  toward  me, — so  much  like  mam- 
ma's,— and  sobs  out,  "Oh  !  Nannie  !  Nannie  !"  and  then 
we  lay  our  heads  upon  one  another's  shoulders  and  sob 
convulsively.  Ah!  I  hear  Aunt  Martha's  voice;  she  is 
calling  us.  Can  she  have  a  letter  ?  I  dread  to  go,  much 
as  I  wish  to  hear.  I  shrink  from  hearing  what  may  be  so 
full  of  sorrow. 

Two  hours  later.  Oh,  joy  that  I  may  write  it !  my 
brother  will  live.  Aunt  Martha  had  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Ralph.  It  read, — "  The  crisis  is  past;  and,  God  be  praised, 
our  Charlie  may  yet  be  spared  to  us.  He  has  awakened  in 
his  right  mind,  and  his  symptoms  are  all  favorable.  Fannie 
[mamma]  is  almost  prostrated  with  the  sudden  reaction 
from  despair  to  hope ;  but  she  will  not  give  up  for  an  in- 
stant, but  hovers  constantly  about  his  pillow.  She  is  an 
angel."  Ay,  Uncle  Ralph,  and  none  know  it  so  well  as 
the  children  she  watches  over  so  tenderly. 

I  cannot  write  ;  my  nerves  are  all  a- quiver.     How  good 


BEECHWOOD.  8 1 

God  is  to  us  !  I  feel  that  I  can  better  bear  dear  Kittie's  loss, 
since  Charlie  has  so  nearly  been  taken,  and  then  restored  to 
us  again.  Gertie  sits  by  me  so  silently,  thinking, — thinking. 
She  has  said  very  little ;  but  I  know  by  the  pale  face,  with 
the  blue  circle  beneath  the  eyes,  that  to-morrow  all  day 
she  will  lie  quietly  and  suffer  with  one  of  her  excruciating 
nervous  headaches.  I  found  her  half  an  hour  after  the  let- 
ter came,  lying  under  the  great  apple-tree  in  the  orchard, 
sobbing  as  though  her  heart  would  break,  and  all  she  could 
say  was,  "Oh,  Nannie,  I  am  so  glad  !  so  glad!"  Just  so 
I  had  found  her,  in  the  same  place,  the  morning  our  little 
sister  died, — away  from  all  companionship,  all  love, — sob- 
bing out  her  sorrow  upon  the  cold  earth  ;  and  when  I  raised 
her  head  and  placed  it  on  my  shoulder,  and  said,  "Why 
do  you  come  here  alone,  Gertie?"  she  only  sobbed, 
"You  have  all  enough  to  bear,  without  adding  my  sorrow 
to  your  own."  Precious  Gertie,  others  are  always  her  first 
care, — never  self. 

Oct.  12.  We  are  all  bustle  and  confusion;  every  one 
striving  to  accomplish  as  much  as  possible.  Aunt  Martha 
proposed  we  should  have  the  fall  cleaning  all  done  in 
mamma's  absence  ;  and  Gertie  and  I  were  only  too  glad  to 
be  released  from  our  studies.  Miss  Lane  has  been  absent 
nearly  two  weeks;  called  away  by  the  illness  of  her  father, 
— her  only  living  relative.  She  returned  two  days  ago, 
leaving  him  much  better.  In  the  midst  of  our  work  we 
had  a  letter  from  dear  mamma  herself,  so  full  of  gratitude 
and  happiness  at  Charlie's  speedy  convalescence.  He  is 
improving  so  rapidly,  they  think  they  will  be  able  to  bring 
him  home,  by  easy  stages,  in  a  few  days.  His  illness  was 
brain  fever;  brought  on,  or  aggravated,  doubtless,  by  the 
great  mental  anxiety  and  suffering,  when  he  was  already 
half  sick,  at  the  time  of  dear  little  Kittie's  death.  Now 
that  we  may  look  for  them  soon,  we  are  all  anxiety  to  have 


g2  BEECHWOOD. 

everything  bright  and  cheerful  when  they  come.  It  is 
Gertie's  and  my  first  experience  in  real  house-work, — mam- 
ma always  overseeing  everything  herself;  but  Aunt  Martha 
said  it  would  be  good  for  us,  we  were  so  unsettled ;  and  I 
think  she  was  right.  I  half  suspect,  however,  that  we  have 
been  more  bother  than  help ;  but  she  has  been  very  patient 
with  us,  and  professed  to  think  we  had  assisted  her  greatly. 
I  said  Gertie  and  I  had  heretofore  done  no  house-work  ; 
but  we  have  always  been  expected,  and  required,  to  take 
care  of  our  own  rooms.  Mamma  has  never  permitted 
us  to  have  a  servant  either  to  assist  us  in  dressing  our- 
selves or  in  taking  care  of  our  rooms ;  saying  she  never 
wished  us  to  feel  dependent  upon  others  for  comfort, 
in  such  trifling  matters.  But  I  am  tired  with  my  un- 
usual exertions,  and  must  go  to  bed,  that  I  may  arise 
with  the  lark  in  the  morning, — -for  am  I  not  housekeeper 
now? 

Oct.  20.  They  have  come.  Charlie  has  borne  the  trip 
well ;  but,  oh !  the  pale,  thin  face  that  looked  out  upon 
us  from  the  carriage- window  almost  broke  my  heart.  They 
arrived  about  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  and  found  every- 
thing bright  and  cheerful  and  ready  for  them.  Mamma 
was  greatly  surprised  at  what  we  had  done,  and  lavish  in 
her  thanks  to  Aunt  Martha  and  praise  and  caresses  upon 
Gertie  and  myself.  We  are  all  so  happy  to  have  Charlie 
with  us  again,  that  we  are  much  more  cheerful  than  I  had 
thought  we  ever  could  be  again  without  dear  little  Kittie. 
Mamma  seems  full  of  happiness  and  gratitude  whenever 
she  looks  at  him,  and  watches  so  closely  that  he  does  not 
over-fatigue  himself.  And  Aunt  Martha  seems  so  happy  in 
her  post  of  self-appointed  housekeeper,  that  mamma  de- 
clares she  must  share  it  jointly  with  her  in  the  future, — an 
assertion  that  makes  Aunt  Martha's  face  flush  with  gratified 
pride  and  pleasure. 


BEECHWOOD.  83 

Nov.  1 8.  Dear  old  book,  I  only  open  you  to  write 
"Adieu."  Charlie  and  I  are  going  to  Uncle  Ben's,  to 
spend  the  winter  and  see  if  the  mild  climate  will  not 
recruit  his  frail  health.  It  is  useless  for  me  to  take  you 
with  us;  for  amid  the  strange  scenes  and  strange  faces 
with  which  we  shall  be  surrounded  I  am  sure  I  shall  find 
small  leisure  to  devote  to  your  pages.  Uncle  Ralph  goes 
with  us,  but  returns  again  immediately.  My  heart  is  full 
of  sorrow  at  leaving  dear  mamma  and  Gertie,  and  not 
seeing  Ralph  at  the  holidays ;  but  I  cannot  help  feeling 
a  young  girl's  eagerness  at  the  thought  that  I  am  going  to 
see  something  of  the  great  world  of  which  I  have  read  so 
much  and  seen  so  little.  When  I  return,  I  hope  to  have 
much  of  which  to  tell  you  that  is  pleasant ;  and  I  doubt  not 
I  shall  often  wish  for  an  hour's  quiet  converse  with  your- 
self; for  I  have  learned  to  corne  to  you,  as  to  an  old  friend, 
and  unveil  my  heart,  as  I  can  do  to  no  one  living.  Adieu, 
adieu. 

Oct.  24.  Ah,  faithful  old  friend,  you  see  I  have  returned 
to  you,  but  after  so  long  an  absence.  First,  you  must  know, 
Charlie  and  I  stayed  at  Uncle  Ben's  until  May,  and  a 
happy,  happy  winter  we  all  had  together.  Uncle  Ben  is 
splendid, — almost  as  good  as  Uncle  Ralph, — and  he  and 
Aunt  Emily  (who  is  one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world) 
did  everything  in  their  power  to  make  us  enjoy  ourselves. 
Then  cousin  Ned,  and  cousin  Fannie,  who  is  mamma's 
namesake,  are  the  best  company  in  the  world  ;  and  nothing 
they  could  do  seemed  too  great,  if  it  could  add  to  our 
happiness  in  the  least.  So  we  went  to  concerts  and  plays, 
had  sleigh-rides  and  carriage-rides,  and,  in  the  spring, 
pony-rides,  till  Charlie  grew  well  and  strong,  and  I  in 
sad  danger  of  having  my  head  fairly  turned  by  the  kind- 
ness and  attention  I  received  from  every  one. 


84  BEECHWOOD. 

Fannie  is  three  years  older  than  I,  and  already  engaged 
to  be  married  to  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and  standing  in 
the  city  where  they  reside.    Ned  is  three  years  older  than  she 
is,  and  a  very  fair  match  for  brother  Ralph.     Then  dear 
little  Ninette, — so  much  like  our   own    lost   Kittie,  that 
more  than  once  the  tears  started  to  my  eyes  at  her  sudden 
appearance.     It   would   be  useless  for  me  to  attempt  to 
transcribe  the  events  of  our  visit :  they  are  too  numerous 
and  full  of  excitement  to  be  narrated  on  paper  at  this  late 
day.     When  we  began  to  talk  of  our  return,  in  the  spring, 
Uncle  Ben  said  he  and  Aunt  Emily  had  been  planning  a 
nice  tour  for  the  summer  months,  in  which  he  proposed 
•we   should  join,    and    have   mamma,  Gertie,   and   Uncle 
Ralph  meet  us  all  at  a  given  point,  and,  taking  our  time, 
visit  leisurely  several  places  of  interest,  and  then  proceed 
to  "Old  Yale"  in  time  to  see  Ralph  graduate.      So  we 
agreed  to  wait  until  we  could  hear  from  mamma,  who,  to 
our  great  joy,  consented  to  the  plan,  on  condition  that  the 
whole  party-then  returned  to  Beechwood,  which  you  know 
is  the  name  of  our  own  dear  grove,  and  where  also  Aunt 
Katie  and  Uncle  Harry  and  the  little  ones  would  come. 
To   this   they  finally   agreed,  stipulating   first    for  a  few 
weeks'  travel  after  Ralph's  college  time  ;  and  so  all  sum- 
mer we  have  been  flitting  here  and  there,  visiting  many 
cities   we   had   never   seen    before,    spending    a  week   at 
Niagara,  and  going  from  thence  to  Hartford,  where  we 
saw  brother  Ralph  and  Hal  Ray  graduate  with  the  highest 
honors.     It  was  a  sad  disappointment  for  poor  Charlie, 
for  his  illness  has  thrown  him  a  year  behind  his  class, — 
they  thinking  it  unsafe  for  him  to  return  to  college  last 
term ;    but  he  bore  it  like  a  hero,  and  was  as  proud  of 
Ralph's  success  as  though  it  had  been  his  own.     Hal  has 
improved  wonderfully,  both  in  appearance  and  manners. 
Fannie  says  she  thinks  he  is  the  handsomest  man  she  ever 


BEECHWOOD.  85 

saw,  except  Uncle  Ralph.  Nettie  and  her  papa  were  at 
Hartfcrd,  and  she  and  Hal  joined  us  in  our  travels  from 
there.  We  spent  about  three  weeks  at  the  sea-side,  and 
then  flitted  away  to  our  own  quiet  home  among  the  hills, 
where  we  have  now  been  just  a  month ;  and  to-day  our 
friends  have  returned  to  their  distant  homes,  whilst  I, 
old  book,  have  flown  back  to  you  for  comfort,  as  in  the 
days  of  the  past. 

I  do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  I  do  not  feel  as  though  I 
were  the  same  little  girl  who  sat  a  year  ago  by  the  open 
window  and  wrote  a  brief  farewell  in  her  diary.  I  seem  to 
have  grown  years  older,  instead  of  months.  I  know  not  why, 
unless  from  having  been  so  long  with  Fannie,  and  entering 
so  fully  into  all  her  plans  for  the  future,  I  have  imbibed 
some  of  the  feeling  of  womanhood  myself.  Let  me  see, — 
I  shall  soon  be  seventeen.  Heigh-ho  !  I  have  not,  truly, 
many  more  years  in  which  to  be  a  child.  I  hardly  know 
whether  to  rejoice  or  be  sad.  I  am  really  afraid,  Nannie 
Cleve,  your  head  has  been  not  a  little  turned  by  the  ex- 
citement of  the  last  few  months.  A  little  while  alone  with 
Gertie  and  dear  mamma,  and  you  will  return  to  the  old 
feelings  and  the  old  ways,  and  be  the  little  child  you  were 
when  you  started  forth  with  Charlie,  a  year  ago. 

Oct.  25.  Hal  Ray  walked  home  with  Gertie  and  myself, 
to-day,  from  church.  He  expects  to  spend  the  winter  in 
New  York,  attending  the  medical  lectures  at  college.  He 
has  chosen  the  medical  profession,  much  against  his  father's 
wishes,  who  would  like  him  to  go  into  the  army.  Nettie 
is  very  glad  he  has  so  decided ;  and  so  am  I, — or  rather 
would  be,  had  I  any  interest  in  the  matter,  which  of  course 
I  have  not.  He  did  not  come  in,  but  returned  home  from 
the  door.  We  found  Uncle  Ralph,  who  always  spends 
Sunday  with  us,  and  mamma,  had  reached  home  first.  I 
felt  tired  and  dispirited,  though  I  do  not  know  why  I 

8* 


86  BEECHWOOD. 

should,  and,  when  I  came  down  from  my  room,  threw  my- 
self, with  childish  abandon,  upon  a  little  ottoman  at  Uncle 
Ralph's  feet,  and  laid  my  head,  child-fashion,  upon  his  knee. 
Aunt  Martha,  who  sat  reading  in  the  room,  spoke  up, 
somewhat  tartly  I  thought, — "Nancy,  you  are  getting  too 
old  to  act  the  child  so  !"  I  started  up,  with  an  angry  retort 
upon  my  lip,  but  thought  of  little  Kittie,  and  was  silent. 

"Ah,  Aunt  Martha,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  gently,  "do 
not  try  to  make  her  think  she  is  a  woman.  Let  her  remain 
a  child  while  she  may." 

He  laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  mine,  as  it  rested  upon 
his  knee ;  but  he  did  not  draw  my  head  back  to  its  resting- 
place,  as  he  used  to  do.  Can  it  be  that  they  both  see  the 
change  in  me,  which  I  feel  so  acutely  ?  Have  I  indeed  left 
my  childhood  behind  me? 

Miss  Lane  says  she  thinks  me  wonderfully  improved  in 
my  manners;  but  I  fear  she  always  thought  me  a  little  hoy- 
denish,  and  is  glad  to  find  me  more  sedate  than  of  yore. 
It  cannot  be  that  I  do  not  love  the  dear  old  home  and 
home-ties  as  much  as  ever,  for  I  feel  that  nothing  could 
induce -me  to  leave  mamma  and  Gertie  again  ;  but  I  feel 
constantly  such  a  longing  to  steal  away  by  myself,  to  hold 
communion  with  my  own  thoughts;  and  more  than  once 
Miss  Lane  has  been  compelled  to  chide  me  for  inattention 
during  our  French  hour.  I  must  take  myself  in  hand  and 
overcome  these  follies,  for  follies  1  am  sure  they  are. 

Oct.  27.  Gertie  and  I  have  just  come  in  from  a  long 
stroll  through  the  grove.  Oh,  how  beautiful  is  autumn, 
when  the  woods  are  gorgeous  in  their  many-colored  robes, — 
when  the  ash  flings  its  bright  leaves  of  crimson  playfully 
down,  to  mingle  with  those  of  the  yellow  maple  and  the 
many-tinted  ones  of  the  oak  and  beech  and  hickory  ! 
Nature  is  very  beautiful ;  but  it  fills  one  ever  with  a  tender 
melancholy  to  sit  silently  and  watch  the  bright  leaves 


BEECHWOOD.  87 

fluttering  slowly  downward,  covering  the  earth  with  a  car- 
pet of  many  hues,  listening,  meanwhile,  to  the  chirp  of 
the  squirrel  as  he  springs  nimbly  from  limb  to  limb,  laying 
up  cheerily  his  store  for  the  coming  winter.  Provident 
little  fellow ;  what  knows  he  of  sorrow  ?  The  bright  sum- 
mer birds  have  all  departed  for  a  warmer  clime;  the  cooing 
of  the  dove  is  sad  and  desolate ;  and  the  occasional  fall  of 
a  nut  to  the  ground  startles  one  like  the  clods  that  fall 
upon  the  coffin-lid.  A  letter  from  Carrie  Reed  to-day 
tells  me  of  the  death  of  her  only  brother, — a  bright  boy  of 
twelve  years;  and  mamma  has  just  tolc}  me  that  little 
Annie  Wood,  one  of  dear  little  Kittie's  playmates,  cannot 
possibly  live  till  morning.  She  has  gone  to  sit  through  the 
night  with  the  grief-stricken  mother.  I  sit  me  down  in 
sadness,  and  write, — 

AN  AUTUMN  SONG. 

The  summer  has  faded  in  beauty  away, 
Like  the  pale  sunset  shadows  of  lingering  day ; 
The  autumn  winds  sadly  sigh  over  its  tomb, 
And  its  roses  are  flinging  their  dying  perfume. 

The  song-birds  are  hast'ning  from  the  wild-wood  away; 
The  leaves  slowly  falling  are  bright-with  decay ; 
The  forests  are  gorgeous  with  crimson  and  gold, 
And  the  pale  autumn  flowers  their  soft  leaves  unfold. 

Alas !  since  we  gather'd  the  summer's  first  rose, 
How  many  a  fond  heart  has  sunk  to  repose ! 
How  many  a  dear  form  we  oft  have  caress'd 
We've  laid  with  the  flowers  away  to  their  rest ! 

There  are  graves  in  the  churchyard,  and  graves  in  each  heart; 
O'er  the  first,  leaves  are  falling  and  tear-drops  oft  start ; 
By  the  last,  faithful  memory  keeps  watch  night  and  day, 
Nor  e'en  in  our  slumbers  turns  tearful  away. 

And  so  will  some  summer  fade  over  our  tomb, 
And  sad  winds  low  whisper  that  autumn  has  come ; 
Yet  calmly  we'll  slumber,  till  forth  from  the  skies 
The  glad  shout  shall  greet  us,  "  'Tis  springtime ;  arise  1" 


88  BEECHWOOD. 

Nov.  6.  I  am  startled  out  of  my  lethargy;  yet  how 
shall  I  write  the  records  of  the  last  few  days?  It  seems  im- 
possible that  this  is  really  myself,  little  Nannie  Cleve,  who 
sit  here  so  demurely  writing.  Like  "  Die  kluge  Else"  in 
the  story  we  to-day  had  in  our  German  lesson,  I  feel  like 
crying  out,  "Bin  ichs,  oder  bin  ichs  nicht?" 

Well,  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  old  friend,  last  Monday 
Hal  came  over  early  in  the  morning  to  invite  Ralph,  Ger- 
tie, and  myself  to  join  an  impromptu  riding-party  they  were 
just  getting  up  at  Mr.  Ray's, — Nellie  having  some  friends 
visiting  her  from  the  city  for  a  few  days  past.  Of  course 
we  were  eager  to  go,  and,  having  gained  mamma's  consent, 
donned  our  habits,  had  the  ponies  brought  to  the  door,  and 
were  soon  cantering  away  in  high  spirits  to  join  the  rest 
of  the  party.  So  ever  recklessly  we  rush  out  to  meet  the 
future,  knowing  so  little  what  it  hath  in  store  for  us.  We 
found  the  others  waiting  for  us  at  the  great  gate  that  leads 
into  Colonel  Ray's  lawn, — Nettie  and  her  friends  Mollie 
and  Susie  Shaw,  together  with  their  brother  Albert  and 
Ellis  Ray,  who  had  only  arrived  late  the  night  before.  We 
lacked  one  more  gentleman  to  make  the  company  com- 
plete :  but  Nettie  protested  that  she  would  ride  with  no 
one,  but  be  impartial  in  her  favors.  So  they  paired  off  as 
suited  them  best,  Ralph  with  Mollie  Shaw,  Ellis  Ray  with 
Susie,  Albert  Shaw  with  Gertie,  and  Hal  with  Nettie  and 
myself;  for,  somehow  or  other,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  be 
alone  with  Hal,  and  persuaded  Nettie  to  ride  with  us.  But, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  whom  should  we  meet,  as  we  turned 
into  the  high-road,  but  Uncle  Ralph  riding  leisurely  along 
on  Racer  on  his  way  to  Beechwood  ?  And  Nettie,  at  once 
darting  away,  claimed  him  as  her  captive,  and,  wheeling 
him  into  rank,  rode  off  beside  him  in  triumph.  Then 
away  we  all  cantered,  through  pleasant  lanes  and  groves 
and  beside  murmuring  brooks,  limpid  and  beautiful, — away, 


BEECHWOOD.  89 

away,  till  our  spirits  rose  jubilant  in  the  clear,  bracing  air ; 
and  we  chatted  and  laughed  and  tossed  back  and  forth 
merry  jests  and  witty  repartee,  until  our  ponies  too  caught 
the  infection  and  dashed  away  quite  cheerily  with  their 
merry  loads.  Hal  and  I  brought  up  the  rear  ;  and,  as  we' 
were  compelled  to  stop  a  moment,  in  order  to  adjust  the 
girth  of  my  saddle,  the  others  were  a  little  in  advance 
of  us,  when  Hal  remounted,  and  away  we  dashed  faster 
than  ever,  in  order  to  overtake  them.  And  herein  lay 
all  our  trouble ;  for,  as  we  turned  rapidly  a  quick  bend  in 
the  road,  a  goat  sprang  suddenly  from  behind  the  hedge, 
and  in  an  instant  Hal's  horse,  which  is  none  too  gentle  at 
best,  sprang  from  under  him,  and,  the  movement  being  so 
unexpected,  he  was  off  his  guard,  and  was  thrown  violently 
upon  the  ground.  When  I  saw  he  did  not  rise,  I  sprang  from 
my  horse  and  ran  to  him.  I  found  him  stunned  and  sense- 
less, and,  I  feared,  dying.  Blood  was  slowly  trickling  from 
a  cut  in  his  forehead,  and  he  was  ghastly  pale. 

"  Oh,  Hal,"  I  cried,  piteously,  "are  you  killed?" 

He  did  not  answer  me,  and  I  ran  to  a  little  stream  by 
the  roadside,  and,  wetting  my  handkerchief  therein,  began 
to  bathe  his  face.  The  cool  water  seemed  to  revive  him, 
for  he  opened  his  eyes,  looked  up  a  moment  wistfully  into 
my  face,  over  which  the  hot  tears  were  streaming  as  I  bent 
above  him,  and  whispered,  faintly, — 

"  I  believe  I  am  dying,  Nannie.  Kiss  me  once,  darling, 
and  remember "  And  he  relapsed  into  insensibility. 

I  was  terribly  frightened.  I  had  never  seen  any  one 
faint  in  my  life  but  once, — that  was  dear  mamma  when 
Kittie  died  ;  and  I  really  believed  he  was  dying.  My  face 
tingles  now  with  the  hot  blood  while  I  think  of  it ;  but 
there  came  rushing  all  through  me  such  an  agony  as  I  never 
before  have  felt,  and  trust  I  never  shall  again, — an  agony 
that  told  me,  by  its  intensity,  that  his  life  was  dearer  to 


9o  ,     BEECHWOOD. 


me  than  my  own ;  and  I  iCnhesmitingly  bent  forward  and 
pressed  my  lips  tremblingly  upon  his  pallid  face.  The 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  reassured  me,  and  I  sprang  up  just 
as  the  rest  of  the  party  came  dashing  back, — Hal's  fright- 
ened horse  having  apprised  them  of  the  accident  by  flying 
riderless  into  their  midst.  Uncle  Ralph,  fortunately  know- 
ing more  of  such  accidents  than  we,  soon  assured  us  that 
he  thought  nothing  more  serious  than  a  sprained  arm  and 
a  few  bruises  would  result  to  Hal  from  his  fall. 

A  carriage  was  procured  from  a  farm-house  near  by, 
and  Hal,  who  by  this  time  was  much  better,  was  helped 
into  it  and  made  as  comfortable  as  might  be,  and  we 
started  homeward.  I  kept  far  in  advance  of  the  carriage, 
riding  rapidly  with  Gertie  and  Mr.  Shaw  ;  and  a  quiv- 
ering heart  and  flaming  cheek  were  my  companions  all  the 
way.  As  soon  as  we  reached  home  I  made  my  escape  to 
my  own  room,  where  I  threw  myself  upon  the  bed  and 
gave  way  to  passionate  weeping.  Gertie  tried  to  comfort 
me  ;  but  how  could  she,  when  she  knew  not  the  embarrass- 
ing position  in  which  I  had  placed  myself?  How  could  I 
tell  her  of  it?  My  heart  shrank  from  exposure  even  to 
precious  Gertie.  How  could  I  acknowledge  to  her  what, 
until  that  miserable  day,  I  had  never  for  an  instant  con- 
fessed to  myself?  And  that  kiss  !  What  must  Hal  think 
of  me  ?  Easily  won, — almost  unasked.  My  face  burns  at 
the  thought,  and  impatient  ejaculations  spring  from  mv 
lips  !  vZjL  ^if  -  '  > 

Ah,  Nannie  Cleve,  Nannie  Cleve !  under  what  star 
dawned  your  natal  day  ?  A  meteor  surely, — so  erratic  and 
troublesome  has  been  your  life,  from  the  cradle  up.  One 
thing  is  certain,  Hal  shall  never  see  me  again.  He  may 
pride  himself  on  the  knowledge  he  has  gained,  but  he  shall 
never  take  advantage  of  it.  Thank  goodness,  it  is  only  a 
month  until  he  leaves  home ;  and  I  surely  can  avoid  him 


BEECHWOOD.  9! 

that  little  while  without  attracting  notice.  See  him  I  will 
not.  That  is  settled.  He  was  quite  ill  for  two  or  three 
days  after  his  fall,  but  is  able  to  walk  around  again  now. 

Nov.  7.  Hal  has  been  here.  He  called  to-day  with 
Nettie,  in  the  pony-chaise.  Fortunately,  I  saw  them  from 
my  room-window  in  time  to  make  my  escape.  I  flew  to 
the  attic, — a  place  where  I  was  least  likely  to  be  sought, 
— and  remained  there  during  their  call,  although  I  heard 
Gertie  searching  for  and  calling  me  everywhere.  Through 
the  little  window  I  watched  them  depart.  How  handsome 
Hal  looked  as  he  helped  Nettie  into  the  chaise  !  I  almost 
wish  I  had  gone  down,  but  avoided  speaking  alone  with 
him.  But  no;  how  could  I  have  met  his  eye?  It  is  bet- 
ter as  it  is ;  only  next  time  I  will  not  run  away  so,  but  beg 
to  be  excused.  I  wish  him  to  know  my  non-appearance  is 
not  accidental.  They  have  only  been  gone  a  few  minutes, 
and  now  I  hear  Gertie  running  up-stairs,  and  I  must  pre- 
pare myself  to  meet  her  inquiries  as  to  my  whereabouts 
during  their  call. 

Nov.  10.  Hal  has  again  been  here,  and  this  time  asked 
expressly  to  see  me.  He  left  his  compliments,  and  regrets 
the  last  time  when  I  failed  to  appear.  This  morning  he 
asked  to  see  me,  if  only  for  a  minute ;  but  I  begged  to  be 
excused  on  the  plea  of  a  bad  headache.  Gertie  said  he 
looked  much  annoyed  when  she  delivered  the  message,  but 
was  too  kind  to  express  a  doubt  as  to  its  sufficiency.  He  left  a 
message  from  Nettie  to  the  effect  that  she  would  look  for  us 
all  there  to  tea  this  evening,  with  her  friends.  But  I  again 
begged  to  be  excused,  for  the  same  reason  I  had  before  urged. 

"Do  go,  dear,"  said  Gertie,  who  I  think  half  suspects 
the  true  state  of  the  case  ;  but  I  was  resolute. 

"Indeed,  my  head  ach.es  too  badly,  Gertie."  And  I 
spoke  truthfully  ;  for  the  present  excitement  had  set  it  to 
throbbing  fearfully. 


92 


BEECHWOOD. 


"  But  it  will  be  better  by  evening,  Nannie." 

"No,  dear  !  indeed,  indeed  I  cannot  go.  You  must  not 
urge  it,"  I  pleaded.  And  Gertie,  ever  yielding,  said  no 
more. 

So  now,  as  I  write,  she  and  Ralph  are  there,  having,  I 
doubt  not,  a  merry  time,  while  I  sit  perched  up  here  in  my 
chamber  alone,  like  a  forlorn  little  maiden  as  I  am,  feeling 
very  lonely  and  desolate.  Well,  well,  it  serves  you  just 
right,  miss,  and  it  will  teach  you  to  be  a  little  more  circum- 
spect in  the  future  with  young  gentlemen  who  are  thrown 
from  their  horses. 

Nov.  12.  Gertie  had  much  to  tell  me,  upon  her  return, 
of  the  pleasant  evening  they  had  spent,  and  also  of  a  nut- 
ting-party planned  for  Thursday, — that  is  to-day. 

"Now,  darling,"  said  Gertie,  "you  will  go  to  the  pic- 
nic, won't  you?" 

"No,  dear,  I  cannot,"  I  said,  resolutely;  although  it 
was  a  hard  trial  to  me,  for  the  beautiful  Indian  summer  is 
upon  us,  and  I  know  of  nothing  that  would  afford  me  such 
infinite  pleasure  as  a  day  spent  nut-gathering  in  the  forest. 
But  then  how  could  I  run  the  risk  of  being  alone  with  Hal  ? 
No  ;  I  would  rather  deny  myself  forever  than  meet  the  con- 
tingency. Gertie  looked  troubled,  and  I  saw  the  time  had 
come  when  I  must  tell  her  of  my  grief.  So,  with  many 
blushes,  and  a  few  hysterical  sobs  and  tears,  I  related  the 
scene  on  the  day  of  our  ride  through  the  forest.  She  was 
all  sympathy,  of  course ;  when  was  she  not  so  with  me  ? 
Then  she  said, — 

"But,  Nannie,  if  he  loves  you,  it  is  not  so  bad." 

"  But  he  does  not,  Gertie,  or  at  least " 

"Ah,  but,"  she  interrupted,  eagerly,  "I  am  sure  he 
does;  he  looks  so  distressed,  Always,  when  you  refuse  to 
come  down." 

"  Man  like, — he  wants  to  feel  his  power." 


BEECHWOOD. 


93 


"No,  no,"  she  began  ;  but  I  interrupted  her  with, — 

"But  even  if  he  did,  Gertie,  what  would  mamma  say? 
I  am  too  young  to  have  a  lover.  No ;  it  is  better  so,  I 
am  sure." 

But  my  heart  gave  a  great  twinge,  even  while  I  spoke ; 
and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  there  was  a  glimmering 
doubt  as  to  whether  mamma  might  not,  just  once,  be  mis- 
taken. Gertie  was  silenced  ;  but  so  was  not  the  little  doubt 
in  my  heart.  The  "Why  not?"  recurred  very  often;  but 
that  I  tried  very  resolutely  to  set  it  aside  will  be  evinced 
by  the  fact  that  I  persisted  in  pleading  indisposition  and 
remaining  at  home  from  the  picnic.  I  will  not  deny  that 
I  shed  a  few  quiet  tears  after  Ralph  and  Gertie  were  gone, 
for  the  morning  was  very  beautiful;  but  I  soon  dried  my 
eyes,  and  betook  myself  to  the  library,  which  in  the  morn- 
ing is  deserted,  and  set  myself  resolutely  to  work  upon  a 
picture  I  was  sketching  for  Ralph's  next  birthday.  I  had 
so  sat  for  half  an  hour  perhaps,  working,  striving  hard  to 
forget  the  gay  party  after  which  my  heart  had  gone,  when 
I  heard  a  step  in  the  hall.  The  door  was  thrown  open,  and 
I  heard  Annie,  our  little  housemaid,  saying, — 

"  Please  walk  in  ;  Miss  Nannie  is  in  the  library." 

I  arose  to  meet  my  guest,  and  confronted — Hal.  For  a 
moment  the  blood  forsook  my  heart,  then  surged  back  in 
such  a  hot  torrent  that  I  thought  I  was  going  to  faint.  But 
I  am  not  easily  overcome,  and  almost  instantly  recovered 
myself  sufficiently  to  say  gayly,  as  he  advanced  eagerly  to 
meet  me, — 

"Why,  how  is  this?  How  happens  it  that  so  loyal  a 
knight  is  not  in  attendance  upon  the  ladies  this  beautiful 
morning?" 

"  They  have  sent  me  for  you,  and  say  I  must  not  return 
without  you." 

They  had  sent  him.  Then  he  had  not  come  of  his 
9 


94 


BEECHWOOD. 


own  free  will.  The  thought  made  me  perfectly  myself 
again. 

"It  is  impossible,"  I  said,  coldly.  "I  sent  word  by 
Gertie,  this  morning,  that  I  was  not  well  enough  to  go." 

"But  you  see  we  will  not  take  'no'  for  an  answer,"  ht 
persisted. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to,"  I  replied,  politely,  but 
frigidly. 

A  moment's  silence,  in  which  I  could  hear  my  heart  beat- 
ing violently,  and  wondered  if  it  was  possible  he  could 
hear  it  also, — which  thought  did  not  in  the  least  tend  to 
soften  its  throbs, — and  then  Hal  said, — 

"What  have  I  done,  Nannie,  to  offend  you?  Why  do 
you  refuse  to  see  me  so  often,  and  now  treat  me  so  coolly? 
Is  the  remembrance  of  our  ride  so  unpleasant  to  you?" 

"You  have  no  right  to  question  me  thus,"  I  began, 
haughtily, — when  our  eyes  met ;  and  then — well,  it  doesn't 
matter  what  more  was  said, — only  I  went  to  the  picnic  after 
all,  and  to-day  has  been  the  very  happiest  day  of  all  my 
life.  Hal  siys  he  has  loved  me  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl ; 
and  indeed  I  am  half  inclined  to  think  I  have  loved  him 
fully  as  long.  To-morrow  he  is  to  come  and  talk  with 
mamma  and  ask  her  consent  to  our  engagement.  How 
strange  it  seems,  but  how  happy,  how  happy  I  am  ! 

Nov.  13.  Hal  came  this  morning  as  we  had  planned, 
and,  after  half-an-hour's  chat  together,  the  nature  of  which 
I  need  not  tell  you,  I  went  to  mamma,  and  told  her, 
with  many  blushes  and  conscious  looks,  that  Hal  had 
something  he  wished  to  say  to  her  in  the  library.  Mamma 
looked  a  little  surprised  at  my  evident  embarrassment,  but 
nevertheless  went  at  once  to  Hal,  and  I  made  my  escape 
up-stairs.  After  what  seemed  to  me  a  long,  long  while,  I 
heard  the  library-bell  ring,  and  then  Annie  came  up  to  say 
that  my  presence  was  desired  there.  Oh,  how  I  dreaded 


BEECHWOOD. 


95 


to  go  !  What  would  mamma  think  and  say?  I  hesitated 
a  moment,  with  my  hand  upon  the  door-knob,  then  I 
turned  it  and  went  in.  The  prospect  was  not  encouraging. 
Mamma  looked  perplexed  and  anxious,  I  thought,  and  Hal 
was  unmistakably  flushed  and  annoyed.  He  arose  instantly 
and  set  a  chair  for  me  near  mamma,. and  then  stood  be- 
side me,  and  after  a  minute's  hesitation  said, — 

"Your  mamma  thinks,  Nannie,  that  I  have  been  very 
precipitate  in  declaring  my  feelings  for  you,  which  may 
have  been  the  case,  as  I  am  not  yet  settled  in  business. 
She  fears  a  long  engagement  will  be  embarrassing  to  us 
both,  but  will  not  hear  of  our  marriage  under  two  years. 
I  have  urged  every  reason  I  can  possibly  bring  to  bear  upon 
the  subject,  and  can  now  only  trust  to  you  to  convince  her 
that  we  do  really  look  to  each  other  for  happiness  in  life." 

I  glanced  timidly  at  mamma,  and  she  met  my  glance 
with  a  reassuring  smile,  but  said, — 

"  Hal  has  stated  the  case  just  as  it  stands,  Nannie,  and 
I  really  am  at  a  loss  what  to  say  or  do  in  the  matter.  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  severe ;  yet,  my  dear  child,  you  are  so  young 
to  enter  into  any  such  engagement,  which,  once  entered 
into,  should  last  for  life." 

"It  would,  mamma,  indeed  it  would,"  I  said,  hastily, 
looking  at  Hal.  And  then  we  talked,  or  at  least  Hal 
talked,  and  I  supported  the  most  that  he  said ;  until  at  last 
mamma  said, — 

"  Nannie,  are  you  sure,  my  child,  that  this  is  not  an  im- 
pulse ?  Remember,  you  are  very  young,  and  an  engage- 
ment of  this  kind  should  not  be  lightly  entered  into." 

"Mamma,"  I  said,  half  pained  that  she  could  doubt 
it,  '(_I^do  love  Hal  with  all  my  heart,  and  always  shall.')' 

j^Bless  you  for  those  words^  I  heard  Hal  whisper,  fer- 
vently. Then,  finally,  mamma  consented  to  the  engage- 
ment, on  condition  that  for  two  years  it  should  be  only 


g  6  BEECHWOOD. 

nominal.  If  at  the  end  of  that  time  we  still  both  desired 
it,  she  would  urge  no  further  objection  ;  but  if,  on  the  con- 
trary, either  felt  it  Avould  be  best  otherwise,  they  must  feel 
perfectly  free  to  so  say.  Hal  and  I  both  smiled  at  the  idea 
of  such  a  thing ;  but,  although  Hal  pleaded  hard  to  have 
the  time  limited  to  one  year,  mamma  was  resolute,  and  he 
was  forced  to  be  content. 

"You  will  let  us  write  to  each  other  in  my  absence?" 
said  Hal. 

"Yes,"  answered  mamma,  "provided  no  promises  are 
given  or  exacted,  other  than  I  have  said ;  and  not  oftener 
than  once  a  month,  unless  in  sickness  or  trouble." 

To  this  we  had  to  consent ;  and  then  Hal  rose  to  go. 
"  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  he  whispered,  as  he  bent  to 
say  "good-by."  Then  he  thanked  mamma  politely  and 
warmly  for  her  concessions,  promised  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  merit  her  favor,  and  withdrew. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  I  laid  my  head  upon  mamma's 
shoulder,  and  whispered, — 

"  Have  I  done  wrong,  mamma?" 

She  kissed  me  very  tenderly,  as  she  answered, — 

"  No,  darling;  only  you 'are  so  very  young  and  inex- 
perienced that  I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  bind  yourself  by 
any  such  engagement  yet.  I  admire  and  love  Hal  very 
much,  and  two  or  three  years  hence  should  have  no  objec- 
tion to  your  choice  ;  but  I  am  very  sorry  it  has  been  made 
so  soon.  I  am  in  no  haste  to  lose  my  daughter.  I  do  not 
know  what  Uncle  Ralph  will  say  to  it." 

"Oh,  mamma,  must  you  tell  him?" 

"  Certainly,  dear.  It  would  not  be  right  to  keep  him 
in  ignorance  of  such  a  fact." 

While  we  were  yet  speaking,  we  heard  the  clatter  of  his 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  pave,  and  his  cheery  voice  in  the  door- 
way, a  moment  later,  with  Aunt  Martha.  I  made  a  hasty 


BEECHWOOD.  g-j 

escape  to  my  own  room,  where  I  remained  till  the  first  din- 
ner-bell rang.  Then  I  went  below,  determined  to  have  the 
matter  over  with  Uncle  Ralph  before  dinner,  if  possible ; 
but  Uncle  Ralph  was  not  to  be  seen  ;  and,  upon  inquiry,  I 
was  told  he  had  been  gone  more  than  an  hour.  I  found 
mamma,  and  learned  from  her  that  he  was  very  angry  when 
she  told  him ;  more  so  than  she  ever  remembered  to  have 
seen  him. 

"But  never  mind,  dear,"  she  said;  "Uncle  Ralph  is  a 
good  man,  and  it  will  be  all  over  before  he  comes  again." 

Gertie  told  me  that  she  went  into  the  library,  not  know- 
ing they  were  there,  and  found  Uncle  Ralph  striding  back 
and  forth  through  the  room,  and  mamma  crying  upon  the 
sofa.  They  did  not  notice  her,  but,  as  she  slipped  away 
again,  she  heard  Uncle  Ralph  say,  "  I  am  a  brute,  Fannie, 
to  distress  you  so ;  but  my  feelings  sometimes  gain  the 
mastery  over  me."  She  ran  hastily  away,  and  heard  no 
more  ;  but  wondered  what  had  annoyed  him  so,  till  I  told 
her  of  Hal's  interview  with  mamma. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  for  you,  darling,"  she  said ;  "for 
though  two  years  seem  a  long  time,  they  will  soon  slip 
away,  and  then  you  will  be  so  happy." 

"Thank  you,  dear,"  I  answered ;  " but  I  cannot  con- 
ceive why  Uncle  Ralph  should  be  so  angry.  He  has  always 
seemed  to  like  Hal,  has  he  not?" 

"Oh,  yes;  you  know  how  kind  he  was  to  him  the  day 
he  was  hurt.  It  is  only  because  you  are  so  young." 

And  I  suppose  it  is ;  but  it  is  very  hard  to  feel  that 
the  event  that  has  brought  so  much  happiness  into  my  life 
has  caused  so  much  annoyance  to  those  who  are  so  dear 
to  me. 

v  Nov.  1 8.  The  days  slip  by,  very  full  of  happiness.  I 
see  Hal  almost  every  day,  for  a  little  while.  We  seldom 
are  alone  together  long,  but -he  always  manages  to  whisper 

9* 


98  BEECHWOOD. 

something  to  me  that  gives  me  food  for  pleasant  thoughts 
and  dreams  when  te  is  gone.  V  **  *t  **-  **j  ^/a~M>    *l*i. 

Mamma  was  right  about  Uncle  Ralprr.  He  did  not  come  t) 
again  for  several  days ;  but,  when  he  did,  he  was  only  a 
little  more  grave  than  usual,  and  never  once  alluded  to 
Hal,  though  I  expected  every  moment  he  would  do  so. 
The  only  thing  that  could  have  any  bearing  upon  the  sub- 
ject was  that  just  as  he  was  going  away  he  turned  to  me 
and  said,  "  Do  not  let  excess  of  happiness  cause  you  to 
neglect  your  daily  duties,  Nannie."  He  looked  at  me  a 
moment,  as  though  he  were  going  to  say  something  more, 
but  only  added,  "God  bless  you;"  and  went  down  the  steps. 

To  my  great  surprise,  Aunt  Martha  is  my  strong  ally. 
She  says  she  has  always  believed  in  early  engagements 
(she  was  married  at  seventeen),  and  reminds  mamma  how 
"Jonas,"  her  husband,  always  favored  "Charles" — dear 
papa— when  he  "came  a  courtin'."  She  tells  Gertie  and  . 
me,  nowadays,  long  passages  in  the  courtship  of  herself 
and  the  beloved  "Jonas,"  for  whom,  never  having  seen 
him,  I  may  be  excused  from  having  any  very  profound 
reverence.  Ralph  says  he  once  saw  a  picture  of  him  that 
was  said  to  be  a  lifelike  likeness.  He  was  very  small,  ac- 
cording to  Ralph's  account,  with  light-blue  eyes,  and  red 
hair,  and  his  face  covered  with  enormous  freckles.  To 
dear  Aunt  Martha  he  was  a  paragon  of  beauty.  She  loved 
him,  and  his  imperfections  became  beautiful  in  her  eyes.  I 
doubt  not  he  was  a  very  good  man,  though  not  possessed 
of  either  great  beauty  or  profound  intellect.  What  a 
blessed  thing  is  love,  and  how  truly,  like  charity,  doth  it 
"cover  a  multitude  of  sins"  !  How  precious  the  thought 
that,  in  the  dull  prison-house  of  life,  love,  like  the  little 
flower  "Picciola"  in  the  prisoner's  gloomy  cell,  can  beau- 
tify and  bless  that  which  else  were  only  gloom  and  dark- 
ness ! 


BEECHWOOD.  99 

"  The  greatest  blessing  that  our  life  can  give 

Is  to  be  loved  for  self,  and  love  again  : 
By  loving  truly  do  we  learn  to  live, — 

And  he  who  ne'er  has  loved  has  lived  in  vain." 

Nov.  27.  I  read  over  my  last  entry,  and  my  mind  re- 
verts to  Uncle  Ralph  ;  poor  Uncle  Ralph  !  I  go  back  to 
the  sad  story  he  told  me  once  in  the  library,  and  think  of 
the  anguish  it  must  have  cost  him  to  lose,  by  such  a  dread- 
ful casualty,  the  lady  he  had  learned  to  love  so  tenderly. 
Hof^  did  he  ever  bear  it?  Oh,  if  anything  should  happen 
to  Hal,  I  am  sure,  quite  sure,  I  should  die  too !  I  never 
could  live  an  hour,  if  the  hope  of  spending  life  with  him 
were  taken  from  me  !  But  that  will  never  be,  unless  death 
comes  between  us.  The  thought  of  our  waiting  two  years 
to  see  if  either  of  us  will  change  !  The  waiting  is  all  well 
enough,  for  I,am  in  no  hurry  to  leave  dear  mamma,  but  I  ^  < 
would  trust  -iffffi,  and  I  am  sure  he  would  me,  if  we  -weTe-  '' 
separated  wide  as  the  two  poles.  Poor  Uncle  Ralph  !  I 
wish  he  could  be  as  happy  in  his  love  as  I  am.  I  wish  he 
could  find  some  good,  good  woman  to  love,  who  would 
make  life  a  paradise  for  him.  And  yet,  come  to  think  of  it, 
I  would  much  rather  have  him  always  remain  an  old  bach- 
elor than  marry,  if  he  can  be  just  as  happy  so.  How  strange 
it  would  seem,  to  have  some  lady  monopolizing  all  of  his 
time  and  thoughts,  leaving  us  precious  little  of  either  !  I 
am  quite  sure  I  should  not  like  it  at  all.  How  selfish  I  am 
growing  !  Suppose  Nettie  had  so  thought  of  Hal,  where 
would  have  been  my  happiness  to-day?  But  then  we  are 
so  much  younger  than  he,  and  he  has  the  memory  of  his 
beautiful  love  to  live  upon. 

Dec.  i.  Only  three  more  days  till  Hal  goes  to  New 
York.  How  can  I  bear  the  parting  for  so  long  a  time  ? 
He  has  become  inexpressibly  dear  to  me  of  late ;  almost 
to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  I  think  of  him,  dream 


ioo  BEECIIWOOD. 

of  himjjbjat  cannot  talk  of  him,  even  to  Gertie ;  and  there 
are  times  when,  in  the  midst  of  my  happiest  hours,  a 
shadow,  fleeting  but  darksome,  flits  over  my  heart,  till,  did 
I  believe  in  presentiments,  I  should  fear  sorrow  was  in  store 
for  one  or  both  of  us.  But  away  with  these  fancies  ! — I 
will  not  yield  to  them.  It  is  only  the  intensity  of  my  love 
which  makes  me  fear  evil. 

Only  three  more  weeks  till  Charlie,  our  student-brother, 
comes  for  Christmas.  My  heart  leaps  at  the  thought.  He 
has  not  been  home  since  he  left  in  August,  so  intent  is  he 
this  year  upon  his  studies.  I  trust  we  shall  enjoy  the  holi- 
days greatly.  How  I  wish  Hal  could  be  here  also  !  but  it 
is  useless  wishing  for  impossibilities.  Ralph  is  at  home  so 
little,  too,  nowadays.  He  is  studying  law  with  Uncle 
Ralph,  and  only  spends  Sunday  with  us,  and  rides  out  for 
a  little  while  once  or  twice  a  week.  Uncle  Ralph  says  he 
will  make  a  good  lawyer.  I  am  sure  he  is  smart  enough, 
and  witty  enough,  for  anything.  He  is  much  more  quiet 
since  dear  little  Kittie's  death;  indeed,  I  think  we  are 
none  of  us  quite  the  same  that  we  were  before  that  sad 
event.  She  was  so  precious,  the  life  of  the  whole  house, 
and  it  is  as  though  the  sunlight  had  been  suddenly  with- 
drawn from  us,  and  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts  the  shadows 
will  steal  into  our  midst.  Her  beautiful  picture  is  the 
greatest  comfort  we  have,  and  but  for  Uncle  Ralph's 
thoughtful  love  we  should  not  have  had  that.  How  inter- 
woven he  does  seem  with  all  of  our  blessings,  and  has  been 
ever  since  I  can  remember.  He  says  Ralph  has  but  one 
really  serious  fault,  and  that  is  procrastination.  He  will 
put  off  duties  that  do  not  seem  urgent,  thereby  frequently 
causing  himself  much  after-annoyance  and  chagrin.  He 
came  very  near  losing  a  very  important  suit  for  Uncle 
Ralph,  last  week,  by  neglecting  to  copy  at  the  proper  time 
some  papers  he  had  given  him  to  transcribe.  He  did  not 


BEECHWOOD.  IOI 

mean  to  neglect  tfiem,  but  thought  he  would  have  ample 
time  the  day  following  to  write  them  all,  and  so  rode  out 
home  in  the  evening.  But  the  next  day,  when  he  setr 
himself  to  the  task,  he  found  it  was  no  light  matter,  and 
only  completed  it  in  time  by  missing  his  dinner  and  writing 
into  half  the  night.  Dear  Ralph,  he  would  not  willingly 
harm  a  fly,  much  less  neglect  a  duty,  but  he  always  was  ' 
the  greatest  procrastinator  imaginable.  I  do  not  think 
he  ever  went  walking  or  riding  with  Gertie  or  myself 
that  he  did  not  keep  us  waiting  at  the  door  while  he  per- 
formed some  little  duty  that  might  just  as  well  have  been 
done  an  hour  before.  Ah  me  !  how  few  of  us  are  born 
into  this  world  faultless  !  and  I  am  the  last  one  who  should 
speak  of  the  faults  of  others,  for  it  does  seem  to  me  that  a 
double  portion  of  the  miserable  little  commodities  have 
fallen  to  my  share. 

Dec.  24.  Hal  has  been  gone  nearly  three  weeks,  and  so 
busy  have  we  all  been,  preparing  for  Christmas,  that  not 
one  word  have  I  written  in  my  diary.  It  seemed  very 
strange  and  lonely,  at  first,  for  the  days  to  come  and  go 
and  bring  him  not;  but  mamma  soon  had  me  so  engrossed 
— heart,  soul,  and  body — in  her  plans  for  Christmas,  that 
the  days  slipped  by  almost  unnoticed.  First  of  all,  though, 
I  had  a  long,  dear  letter  from  Hal ;  so  long  and  so  beauti- 
ful that  I  can  well  live  on  it  for  a  month.  He  says,  if  we 
cannot  write  but  one  letter  a  month,  it  must  be  long  enough 
to  answer  for  three  or  four.  I  answered  it  the  same  day 
that  I  received  it;  and  every  night  before  I  lay  my  head 
upon  the  pillow  I  read  his  letter  all  over  again,  and  it  fur- 
nishes ample  food  for  pleasant  dreams.  Gertie  laughingly 
says  she  wonders  if  she  will  ever  be  so  completely  en- 
thralled as  I  ?  I  tell  her  to  bide  her  time  ;  that  it  surely 
will  come.  But  she  only  shakes  her  curly  head,  and  says, 
laughingly,  (that  there  must  always  be  one  old  maid  in 


102  BEECHWOOD.: 

\l-  -  ^-bs  '       U! 

every  familypand  that,  as  I  have  stolen  *a  march  upon  her, 
she  must  e'en  "make  a  virtue  of  necessity,"  and  submit  -. 
to  her  fate  with  as  much  grace  as  may  be.  Gertie  an  old 
maid  !  I  look  at  her  now,  as  she  lies  sleeping  so  peacefully, 
— for  it  is  late  at  night  as  I  write, — her  fair  cheek  pillowed 
upon  her  little  hand,  the  short  curls  tangling  themselves 
willfully  all  round  her  white  forehead,  and  the  bright  lips 
wreathing  themselves  into  a  smile  at  some  pleasant  fancy 
in  her  sleep,  and  I  laugh  outright  at  the  thought.  No,  no ; 
in  the  years  to  come,  she  is  destined  to  be  the  light  of 
some  happy  home,  the  idol  of  some  manly  heart ;  and  none 
could  be  more  worthy  to  fill  such  a  place  than  she. 

But  to  return  to  our  Christmas  work.  There  are  several 
families  of  poor  people  scattered  among  the  hills  back  of 
us,  and  mamma  gave  Gertie  and  me  permission  to  go  and 
ask  all  the  children,  some  thirty  or  forty  in  number,  to 
come  to  the  house  at  seven  o'clock  Christmas  eve.  So 
for  the  last  three  weeks  we  have  been  all  working,  working 
like  bees ;  and  now  a  great  Christmas-tree  stands,  ready  to 
be  lit,  in  the  large  dining-hall,  loaded  with  all  kinds  of 
useful  and  amusing  presents  for  the  little  ones.  There  are 
dresses  and  aprons  and  warm  flannels;  and  cloaks  and 
hoods,  all  made  up  ready  for  use ;  stockings  and  mittens 
(over  which  Aunt  Martha  has  nearly  worn  out  her  blessed 
old  fingers,  I  fear),  and  scarfs,  and  shoes ;  and  cloth  for 
jackets  and  trousers  for  the  boys ;  a  new  dress  for  each  of 
their  mammas ;  and  a  warm  flannel  gown  for  poor  old 
sick  Granny  Weir,  and  an  armful  of  things  for  her  little 
granddaughter,  Lizzie,  who  nurses  her  so  tenderly.  Then 
there  are  picture-books,  and  dolls,  and  tiny  work-baskets, 
for  the  girls ;  and  skates  and  sleds,  and  fire-crackers  in 
abundance,  for  the  boys ;  to  say  nothing  of  candy-bags 
and  tiny  nut  baskets ;  and  every  shape  of  fancy  cookies, 
made  by  Millie's  skillful  hand,  in  profusion.  The  tree  is 


BEECHWOOD. 


103 


loaded  down  with  the  lighter  articles,  while  the  more . 
weighty  ones  are  arranged  tastefully  at  the  foot  of  it. 
Uncle  Ralph  has,  as  usual,  shared  largely  in  the  expenses 
of  the  thing ;  and  Charlie,  who  is  home  for  the  holidays, 
and  well  and  happy,  and  Ralph,  have  taken  all  the  heavy 
work  off  of  us, — arranged  the  tree  beautifully,  and  hung 
the  presents  with  great  taste  upon  it. 

It  will  be  such  a  treat  as  I  trow  the  little  ones  have 
rarely  had  before.  Miss  Lane  has  been  of  great  assistance. 
Nettie  Ray,  too,  has  entered,  heart  and  soul,  into  our 
plans,  and  spent  the  greater  part  of  her  time  with  us  for 
the  last  three  weeks.  She  is  coming  over  this  evening,  to 
stay  until  after  Christmas.  Oh,  if  Hal — my  Hal — could 
only  be  here  too  ! 

Dec.  26.  Well,  Christmas  is  past;  and  such  a  merry, 
happy  time  as  we  did  have.  First  of  all  came  our  Christ- 
mas-tree. Promptly  at  the  hour  appointed,  the  little  ones 
came  thronging  in,  all  washed  and  dressed  clean,  but  many 
of  them  very  forlorn-looking  indeed.  Uncle  Ralph  was 
unanimously  chosen  president  of  our  little  meeting,  and 
after  the  drawing-room  doors  had  been  thrown  open, 
and  we  had  all  joined  in  a  Christmas  anthem,  he  made  a 
pretty  little  impromptu  speech  to  the  children,  and  then 
began  the  distributing  of  the  gifts.  He  took  them  down, 
one  by  one,  from  the  tree,  read  the  name  of  the  recipient 
aloud,  and  passed  it  to  Ralph  or  Charlie,  who,  in  turn, 
passed  it  over  among  the  crowd  of  eager  expectant  little 
faces,  always  accompanied  with  some  witticism,  that  kept 
up  a  perpetual  glee  among  them.  Then  we  found,  too, 
that  many  precious  little  gifts  had  been  slyly  smuggled  on 
to  the  tree,  so  that  we  all  came  in  for  a  full  share  of  the 
spoils,  as  Ralph  would  say,  and  many  a  little  shout  of 
merry  surprise  and  pleasure  went  round  as,  one  after  one, 
these  articles  were  handed  down.  A  volume  of  Lalla  Rookh, 


IO4 


BEECHWOOD. 


from  Miss  Lane,  Schiller's  complete  works,  from  Charlie, 
coral  bracelets,  from  Ralph,  a  work-box,  from  Gertie,  a 
picture,  from  mamma,  of  herself,  in  a  most  exquisite  case 
(more  precious  to  me  than  all  the  rest),  a  soft,  warm 
sleighing-hood,  from  Aunt  Martha,  knit  by  herself,  and 
last,  but  not  least,  the  most  exquisite  little  watch  I  ever 
saw,  from  Uncle  Ralph,  fell  to  my  lot.  Mamma's  and 
Uncle  Ralph's  presents  to  Gertie  were  the  same  as  mine ; 
and,  indeed,  none  of  us  have  any  right  to  complain  of  the 
visit  of  Santa  Claus  this  year ;  for  I  am  sure  all  are  equally 
favored  and  equally  delighted.  The  little  ones  all  ran  home 
with  happy  hearts, — if  bright  eyes  and  smiling  faces  are  any 
index  thereto.  Then  we  drew  our  chairs  about  the  cheery 
grate  in  the  drawing-room,  and  talked  of  past  Christmases, 
and  looked  forward  with  hope  to  future  ones,  till  tea  was 
in.  Then  some  one  proposed  that  we  all  should  drive  to 
the  village  and  hear  the  Christmas  anthem  in  the  old 
church.  The  sleighing  is  excellent,  so  the  proposition  met 
with  universal  acclamation  from  the  young  folks.  Mamma 
demurred  a  little  at  first,  it  would  keep  us  out  so  late,  and 
she  knew  we  must  be  tired.  But  we  overruled  all  of  her 
objections,  till  at  last  she  consented,  on  condition  that 
Uncle  Ralph  would  drive  us, — and  when  did  Uncle  Ralph 
refuse  to  do  anything  that  would  give  us  pleasure?  So,  a 
little  before  eleven  o'clock,  the  ponies  and  sleigh  were 
brought  to  the  door,  and,  well  defended  from  the  cold  by 
warm  wraps  and  hoods  (I  christened  my  new  one),  and 
completely  enveloped  in  buffalo  robes,  we  started.  The 
night  was  calm  and  clear,  and  the  stars  looked  down  upon 
us  as  brilliantly  as  though  their  light  had  not  already  shone 
for  centuries  upon  just  such  merry  groups.  As  we  whirled 
along  over  the  spotless  snow,  so  pure,  so  beautiful,  with  not 
a  sound  breaking  the  stillness  of  the  night,  save  the  soft 
crunching  of  the  snow  beneath  the  horses'  feet,  and  the 


BEECHWOOD.  105 

musical  jingle  of  the  silver  bells,  we  all,  by  common  con- 
sent, relapsed  into  silence;  and  I  doubt  not  our  thoughts 
were  not  widely  different.  For  my  own  part,  they  were  full 
of  untold  interest.  My  mind  ran  eagerly  back  to  the  time, 
a  little  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  when  doubt- 
less, on  just  such  a  night  as  this,  the  shepherds  of  Judea, 
watching  beside  their  flocks,  beheld  the  angel  descending 
from  above,  who  came  to  bring  to  earth  the  "glad  tidings 
of  great  joy."  A  great  calm  seemed  to  fall  upon  me,  as  in 
fancy  I  beheld  it  all,  and  then  an  intense  longing  to  one 
day  visit  the  very  spot  where  the  news  was  first  proclaimed 
to  man.  Full  of  the  thought,  I  said,  very  softly, — 

"Uncle  Ralph,  will  you  some  day  take  me  to  Pales- 
tine?" 

I  was  nestled  up  close  beside  him  as  he  drove,  and  he 
turned  and  looked  down  upon  me  in  the  starlight  a  moment, 
earnestly,  and  then  said, — 

"I  would  love  to,  little  Nannie,  dearly;  but  how  can  I 
now?" 

His  tone  brought  to  my  recollection  that  I  was  no  longer 
my  own,  and  had  no  right  to  travel  in  future  with  any 
gentleman  but  one, — not  even  with  Uncle  Ralph, — and  I 
relapsed  into  silence,  to  think  the  rest  of  the  way  of  Hal. 

We  reached  the  church  about  half-past  eleven,  and  found 
it  already  densely  crowded.  The  lights  were  turned  so 
low  that  only  a  dim  outline  could  be  seen  of  anything. 
We  found  seats  after  some  difficulty,  and  waited  in  silence 
and  darkness  for  about  half  an  hour.  A  profound  silence 
was  dVer  all ;  we  could  almost  hear  our  own  heart-throbs. 
I  could  distinctly  hear  the  breathing  of  a  gentleman  who 
sat  just  behind  me.  At  length  the  old  clock  in  the  belfry, 
that  for  more  than  a  century  has  rung  the  hours,  struck 
the  first  midnight  chime.  Instantly,  as  though  by  magic, 
the  whole  church  became  a  blaze  of  light ;  the  bells  in  the 

10 


106  BEECHWOOD. 

tower,  and  of  all  the  surrounding  churches,  rang  forth  a 
joyous  peal ;  the  grand  old  organ  jvoke  its  most  heavenly 
strains,  and  the  whole  congregation  arose  as  by  one  im- 
pulse to  their  feet,  while  the  grand  Christmas  anthem  broke 
forth  with  a  power  I  had  never  heard  equaled  before.  It 
seemed  as  though  "the  glad  tidings"  had  indeed  but  then 
been  spoken,  and  the  world  of  darkness  had  sprung  into 
light  and  joy  at  the  sound. 

As  we  passed  from  the  church,  a  tall,  dark  figure  stepped 
up  to  me  on  the  church  steps,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone, — 
"Will  you  not  wish  me  'a  merry  Christmas,'  darling?" 
And  both  my  hands  were  caught  and  held  in  a  warm 
grasp  by  Hal.  Oh,  what  a  great,  glad  throb  my  heart  gave 
when  by  tone  and  touch  I  recognized  him  !  My  Christ- 
mas had  already  begun.  He  had  run  down  from  the  city 
just  to  spend  Christmas  day  with  us,  had  reached  the 
village  on  the  half- past-eleven  train  at  night,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  the  hotel,  to  remain  till  morning,  when  he  saw 
us  enter  the  church.  Of  course  his  plans  were  all  changed, 
and  he  himself  went  to  the  church.  We  took  him  with  us 
into  the  sleigh ;  and  I  did  not  sit  by  Uncle  Ralph  going 
home.  Gertie  took  my  place,  and  I  sat  by  somebody  else  ; 
and  our  ride  home  in  the  clear  starlight,  that  Christmas 
morning,  is  one  I  shall  not  soon  cease  to  remember.  We 
set  Hal  and  Nettie  down  at  their  own  gate,  Nettie  of  course 
preferring  to  remain  at  home,  now  that  Hal  had  come ; 
but  they  both  promised  to  come  over  early  the  next  day, 
which  they  did ;  and  such  a  pleasant,  pleasant  day  as  we 
did  have.  The  only  drawback  to  it  was  that,  for  the  first 
time  since  I  can  remember,  Uncle  Ralph  failed  to  be  present 
at  our  Christmas  dinner.  He  told  us  at  breakfast  that  he 
was  compelled  to  go  to  town ;  and  the  burst  of  indignation 
with  which  the  announcement  was  met  was  enough  to  have 
appalled  and  conquered  a  less  resolute  heart. 


BEECHWOOD.  joy 

"But,  Ralph,"  said  mamma,  appealingly,  "you  will 
surely  return  to  dinner?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  this  time,  Fannie,"  he  answered  ; 
and  he  and  mamma  exchanged  glances  that,  for  the  life  of 
me,  I  cannot  understand  ;  and  mamma  said  no  more. 

We  all  used  every  endeavor  to  get  him  to  remain  ;  but 
he  persisted  in  saying  that  he  had  acquired  Ralph's  habit 
of  procrastinating  in  his  business,  till  he  was  compelled  to 
work  hard  on  Christmas  in  order  to  be  able  to  take  up  a 
case  the  next  day. 

"Cannot  I  help  you,  Uncle  Ralph?"  asked  our  Ralph, 
who  is  very  sore  over  the  matter  of  procrastination. 

"No,  my  boy;  it  is  no  fault  of  yours,  but  my  own 
neglect,  that  has  caused  the  disappointment:  so  for  once 
you  must  eat  your  Christmas  dinner  without  me."  • 

"Humph!"  said  Charlie.  "A  Christmas  dinner  at 
Beechwood  without  Uncle  Ralph  is  like  a  plum-pudding 
without  any  plums !" 

In  the  general  laughter  that  followed  this  sally,  Uncle 
Ralph  made  his  escape ;  but  it  was  a  sad  disappointment 
to  us  all  not  to  have  him  with  us.  We  missed  him  every- 
where, and  the  day  seemed  incomplete  without  him. 

We  all  went  to  church  in  the  morning,  a  merry  sleigh- 
load,  and  listened  to  a  fine  discourse  from  the  words,  "  We 
have  seen  his  star  in  the  east."  The  minister,  a  stranger 
to  us,  treated  his  subject  with  great  skill,  and  spoke  with  a 
beautiful  and  touching  pathos  of  the  birth  and  sufferings 
of  the  Saviour,  and  with  sublime  trust  of  that  wonderful 
hope  for  the  future  that  the  humble  follower  of  Christ  may 
always  attain.  He  pointed  us  all  to  the  glorious  Star  in 
the  East,  whose  promise  is  ever  to  the  faithful,  and  ex- 
horted us  never  to  rest  until  by  faith  we  had  looked  upon 
it  in  its  beauty. 

Returning,    we   all    sat   down   to   a  regular   Christmas 


io8  BEECHWOOD. 

dinner,  such  as  only  mamma's  skill  can  produce.  Nettie 
stayed  all  night  with  us,  and  Hal  allowed  himself  barely 
time  to  reach  the  ten-o'clock  train  that  night.  How  kind 
and  good  of  him  to  come  all  this  way  just  to  spend  one 
little  day  at  Beechwood  !  He  brought  me  a  most  delicately 
beautiful  pearl  ring,  which  he  slipped  upon  my  finger 
Christmas  morning  as  we  rode  home  together  in  the  star- 
light. Dear  Hal !  how  strange  it  seems  that  he  should 
love  me  so  dearly !  He  says  he  likes  New  York  so  well 
that  he  thinks  he  will  make  it  his  home  in  the  future. 
That  makes  me  sad ;  it  is  so  far  from  Beechwood  and 
mamma. 

Dec.  27.  What  a  way  Uncle  Ralph  has  of  making  one 
see  one's  own  faults  in  the  right  light !  About  two  weeks 
ago  he  said  one  day  to  Ralph, — 

"  I  see  that  a  lot  of  fine  horses  are  to  be  sold  at  B " 

(mentioning  a  little  village  about  seven  miles  north  of  us), 
"and  the  beautiful  filly  you  admired  so  much  yesterday  is 
among  the  number.  I  have  been  thinking  it  would  be  a 
nice  ride  for  us,  Ralph,  to  go  over  on  the  day  of  the  sale : 
who  knows  but  we  might  strike  a  bargain  for  the  little 
beauty?" 

Ralph  of  course  was  all  animation  at  the  thought,  and 
asked,  eagerly, — 

"When  does  it  come  off,  Uncle  Ralph?" 

"  There  is  a  private  sale  on  the  2ist,  and  all  that  are  not 
disposed  of  that  day  will  be  knocked  down  by  the  auctioneer 
the  day  following." 

"  Oh,  she  will  go  by  private  sale,  of  course,"  said  Ralph  ; 
"she  is  too  pretty  to  go  begging." 

"The  filly?  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  unless  the  sale  should 
not  be  generally  known.  I  guess  we  had  better  be  there 
the  first  day,  anyhow." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Ralph ;  and  so  it  was  settled. 


BEECHWOOD. 


109 


Well,  on  the  day  appointed  Uncle  Ralph  came  out  at  a 
late  hour  in  the  morning  (Ralph  was  spending  that  week  at 
home,  helping  us  with  our  tree),  and  in  reply  to  Ralph's  in- 
quiries said  a  friend  had  come  into  the  office  the  day  be- 
fore and  prevented  his  attending  to  some  important  writing 
on  hand,  so  he  was  compelled  to  finish  it  that  morning, 
and  in  consequence  they  would  that  day  be  too  late  for  the 
sale.  "Besides,"  said  he,  "I  see  Racer  has  lost  a  shoe, 
and  it  would  ruin  him  to  ride  over  that  rough  road  shoe- 
less. I  only  rode  out  to  tell  you  what  caused  the  delay, 
and  to  say  that  we  must  ride  over  bright  and  early  in  the 
morning.  I  met  a  gentleman  who  had  been  to  the  sale,  as 
I  came  along,  and  he  told  me  the  filly  was  still  there." 

Ralph  swallowed  his  disappointment  as  best  he  might ; 
and  Uncle  Ralph,  refusing  to  come  in,  hurried  away,  say- 
ing that  he  must  go  back  and  have  Racer's  shoes  looked  to. 
The  next  morning  Ralph  was  "booted  and  spurred"  soon 
after  breakfast,  and  never  was  loyal  knight  so  impatient  to 
see  his  lady-love,  as  was  he  for  Uncle  Ralph's  appearance. 

"What  in  the  world  can  keep  him?"  he  had  asked,  im- 
patiently, at  least  a  dozen  times  before  he  came.  At  last, 
about  ten  o'clock,  he  came  hurriedly,  saying  it  was  too 
bad,  but  he  had  thought  the  smith  could  fasten  Racer's 
shoe  in  a  very  few  minutes,  and  had  neglected  having  it 
done  the  night  before,  and  found  in  the  morning  it  needed 
more  than  he  had  thought ;  and  hence  he  had  been  greatly 
delayed. 

"It  is  too  bad,  Ralph,"  he  said;  "but  I  guess  we  can  be 
there  in  time;"  and  away  they  dashed  at  a  spirited  pace. 
About  four  o'clock  they  came  back,  very  leisurely,  and  I 
knew  at  once  by  Ralph's  disappointed  looks  that  they  had 
been  too  late.  He  was  too  generous  to  complain ;  but  I 
knew  it  had  been  a  sad  disappointment  to  him;  for  I  doubt 
not  he  had  dreamed  of  that  beautiful  filly,  sleeping  and 


IIO  BEECHWOOD. 

waking, /almost  as  much  as  a  young  girl  dreams  of  her 
lover.)  Uncle  Ralph  did  not  dismount,  nor  did  we  see  him 
again  till  Christmas  eve.  That  night,  after  the  gifts  from 
the  tree  had  been  distributed,  he  said  to  Ralph, — 

"It  is  too  bad,  Ralph,  I  declare,  about  that  filly.  I 
fully  intended  she  should  have  been  your  Christmas-present, 
and  but  for  my  negligence  she  would  have  been.  As 
it  is,  you  see,  I  have  found  nothing  worthy  to  supply 
her  place."  There  had  been  nothing  for  him  from 
Uncle  Ralph  on  the  Christmas-tree,  while  Charlie,  the 
book-worm,  had  a  complete  edition  of  the  British  Ency- 
clopaedia, over  which  he  now  gloats,  night  and  day. 

"  If  it  had  been  your  fault  that  we  missed  the  sale,"  he 
continued,  "  I  should  have  read  you  a  regular  lecture  on 
the  evils  of  procrastination  ;  but  as  it  was  mine,  you  gen- 
erously suppress  all  words  of  blame." 

"Ah,  Uncle  Ralph,"  said  he,  "I  trust  you  will  never 
have  to  lecture  me  on  that  miserable  failing  again  ;  for  I 
here  swear,  by  the  head  of  that  beautiful  nag,  that  should 
have  been  mine  to-night,  and  is  not,  that  I  will  from  this 
hour  adopt  for  my  rule  of  action,  'Never  put  off  till  to- 
morrow what  can  be  done  to-day  !'  ' 

"Bravo!"  cried  Uncle  Ralph.  "Now  I  am  sure  you 
will  indeed  make  a  successful  man.  I  believe  punctuality 
the  only  essential  quality  you  lacked  to  insure  success." 

Ralph  flushed  with  pleasure  at  these  words  of  praise,  and 
answered,  earnestly, — 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Uncle  Ralph;  I  ask  no  better 
Christmas-present  than  your  sincere  commendation." 

Tea  at  this  moment  was  announced,  and  the  subject 
dropped  ;  but  early  the  next  morning  Ralph  went,  as  was  his 
custom,  to  the  stables,  to  take  a  look  at  the  ponies,  and 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  came  hurriedly  in, 
with  a  countenance  in  which  surprise,  delight,  and  grati- 


BEECHWOOD.  m 

tude  were  unmistakably  blended,  and,  seizing  Uncle  Ralph 
by  both  hands,  said,  eagerly, — 

"  How  am  I  ever  to  repay  you  for  your  untiring  interest 
in,  and  unfailing  kindness  to,  me?" 

Uncle  Ralph  tried  hard  to  look  surprised  at  this  outburst, 
but  Ralph  continued  : — 

"All  my  life  long  I  have  been  trying  your  patience  with 
my  mad  pranks,  and  never  more  than  by  my  careless 
neglect  of  duties  of  late;  and  now,  as  always  in  the  past, 
you  repay  my  faults  by  gratifying  the  first  wish  of  my 
heart." 

"Nay,  nay,  Ralph;  it  is  the  promise  of  amendment  I 
repay,  not  the  faults,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  laughing;  and 
mamma  said, — 

"What  has  Uncle  Ralph  been  doing  now,  I  wonder?" 

"Doing?"  cried  Ralph.  "What  has  he  been  doing? 
Come  and  see."  And  he  led  the  way  to  the  hall  door,  be- 
fore which  we  found  Joseph,  the  groom,  leading  slowly 
backward  and  forward  the  most  beautiful  little  filly  I  ever 
saw.  She  is  a  beauty,  and  no  mistake.  lam  no  judge  of 
horseflesh,  but  I  should  single  her  out  among  a  thousand: 
a  dark  bay,  slightly  dappled,  with  the  trimmest  little  body 
and  limbs  imaginable,  two  white  ankles,  two  black  ones, 
and  a  heavy,  black,  flowing  mane  and  tail.  How  beauti- 
fully she  arched  her  glossy  neck,  and  spurned  the  ground  as 
lightly  with  her  pretty  feet  as  a  delicate  lady  could  have 
done !  I  did  not  at  all  wonder  that  Ralph  was  in  love  with 
her.  A  card  was  attached  to  the  pretty  bridle  that  en- 
circled her  head,  upon  which  was  written,  in  Uncle 
Ralph's  well-known  hand,  "Something  that  I  trust  will 
prove  a  pleasant  daily  reminder  to  Ralph  of  the  good 
resolutions  he  made  on  Christmas  eve." 

"Is  she  not  a  beauty?"  said  Ralph,  fondly  patting  her 
glossy  neck,  while  she  tossed  her  head  coquettishly,  as 


II2  BEECHIVOOD. 

though  conscious  of  the  admiration  she  was  exciting.  "  Is 
she  not  a  beauty  ?  I  think  we  will  have  to  name  her  '  Di.' ' 
Then,  suddenly  turning  to  Uncle  Ralph,  he  said,  earnestly, 
"If  ever  I  do  forget,  or  fail  to  keep,  the  resolution  ex- 
pressed last  night,  I  shall  be  worse  than  a  traitor  to  myself, 
and  deserve  to  lose  every  friend  I  have."  And  he  never  will. 

Jan.  4.  The  holidays  are  past.  Charlie  has  gone  back 
to  college,  Ralph  to  his  law-studies  in  the  village,  and 
Gertie  and  I  have  settled  ourselves  resolutely  to  our  studies. 
I  mean  to  apply  myself  unremittingly  to  my  books  for  the 
rest  of  the  winter,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else, — 
even  you,  old  book.  I  mean  to  make  myself,  if  possible, 
worthy  of  Hal's  love.  He  is  so  talented  and  clever,  so 
well  read  in  every  department  of  literature,  that  I  have  to 
strain  every  nerve  to  make  myself  a  suitable  companion  for 
him.  Nettie  says  he  thinks  me  almost  perfect.  How 
strange  that  any  one  could  think  so  of  poor  imperfect  me  ! 
But  if  he  does  think  so,  I  will  do  my  very  best  to  fill  his 
ideal.  It  would  be  terrible  for  him  to  feel  some  day  that 
he  had  made  a  great  mistake,  and  that  I  was  not  his  ideal 
love  after  all.  What  would  he  do,  I  wonder,  in  such  a 
case? — tell  me  of  it,  or  suffer  for  his  self-deception  in 
silence?  The  latter,  I  fear;  he  is  so  noble  and  generous. 
But  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  think  of  the  possibility  of 
this.  He  has  surely  known  me  long  enough  to  know  me 
well  :  and  if  he  already  loves  me  as  I  now  am,  with  all  my 
faults,  he  will  surely  love  me  becter  when  he  sees  how  hard 
I  try  to  become  more  perfect  for  his  sake. 

Jan.  19.  The  tranquil  stream  of  our  daily  life  is  again 
disturbed  by  a  ripple.  Cousin  Minnie  Norris  has  come  to 
live  with  us.  She  is  the  only  child  of  papa's  half-sister, 
who  died  about  three  years  ago.  Last  year  her  father 
married  again,  and  shortly  afterward  himself  died ;  so  poor 
Minnie  was  doubly  orphaned.  It  seems  that  her  step- 


BEECHWOOD.  I T  3 

mother  and  herself  did  not  get  along  very  well  together, 
and  a  few  weeks  ago  Minnie  wrote  to  mamma,  and  com- 
plained so  bitterly  of  her  lot  that  mamma,  who  has  always 
loved  her  very  tenderly,  wrote  at  once  inviting  her  to  make 
her  home  with  us,  and  also  wrote  to  her  step-mother 
kindly  offering  to  relieve  her  of  all  future  care,  as  she 
(mamma)  was  really  more  of  kin  to  Minnie  than  herself. 
Mrs.  Norris  replied  very  courteously,  and  thanked  mamma 
in  a  very  ladylike  manner,  confessing  that  it  would  be  a 
great  favor  to  be  relieved  of  Minnie,  as,  having  known  her 
such  a  little  while  before  her  father's  death,  she  had  failed 
to  acquire  control  over  her  and  felt  the  responsibility  to  be 
very  great.  So  she  came  to  us  two  days  ago.  She  is  just 
my  age ;  is  a  pretty,  delicate-looking  little  thing,  and  per- 
fectly charming  in  her  childish  simplicity.  She  says  her 
step-mother  was  very  strict  with  her,  allowing  her  to  see  no 
company,  and  frequently  withholding  letters  that  were 
written  to  her.  Poor  child  !  she  seems  so  frail  and  deli- 
cate. I  trust  she  will  be  so  happy  here  that  we  will  soon 
see  the  roses  again  upon  her  cheeks.  Mamma  has  given 
her  the  room  adjoining  ours,  and  she  is  soon  to  begin 
studying  with  us  also.  Gertie  and  I  are  very  happy  to 
have  her  with  us,  and  will,  I  am  sure,  fulfill  mamma's  in- 
junction to  do  all  we  can  to  make  her  happy. 

Feb.  20.  Another  long,  dear  letter  from  Hal.  He 
steals  a  few  days  from  the  month  every  time.  "Oh, 
Nannie,"  he  writes,  "the  months  go  by  so  slowly  that, 
when  I  think  that  there  are  still  twenty-one  to  pass  before 
I  can  claim  you  before  the  world,  I  feel  half  desperate. 
Why  is  this  long  delay  necessary  ?  I  am  sure  we  have 
enough  to  live  upon  if  I  should  never  make  a  dollar  by  my 
profession,  which,  however,  I  mean  to  follow  resolutely 
and  steadfastly.  I  have  no  notion  of  being  a  drone  in  this 
work-day  world  of  ours ;  but  it  would  be  so  sweet  to  feel 


H4  BEECHWOOD. 

that  I  had  some  one  else  to  work  for  besides  myself,  and 
that  one  my  beautiful  darling.  I  confess  I  cannot  see  the 
point  to  this  delay.  Is  it  to  test  our  affections  ?  Surely, 
darling,  we  are  not  children,  that  they  need  fear  we  do  not 
know  our  own  hearts.  I  suppose  when  the  two  years  have 
expired  they  will  think  it  necessary  for  another  to  pass 
before  we  can  marry,  after  bur  engagement  has  been  pro- 
claimed. I  protest  against  this  long  delay !  What  shall 
we  gain  by  it  ?  Only  two  or  three  years  snatched  from 
the  happiness  of  life.  You  are  mine,  and  I  want  you,  I 
need  you;  and  I  really  think  one  ^year's  probation  is  all 
that  should  be  expected.  Can  we  not  by  protest  or  strategy 
overcome  your  mamma's  and  Uncle  Ralph's  scruples? 
What  say  you,  my  darling?"  And  with  my  heart  pleading 
strongly  all  the  while  for  my  absent  darling,  I  have  yet 
listened  to  reason  rather  than  love  (perhaps  because  I  was 
sure  mamma  would  not  listen  a  moment  to  our  proposition 
should  it  be  made),  and  have  written  him  thus  in  reply :  — 
"  It  does  seem  a  long  while,  dear  Hal,  for  us  to  wait, 
since  you  expect  to  spend  most  of  your  time  in  New  York, 
and  therefore  we  can  see  so  little  of  each  other ;  but  I  am 
quite  sure  mamma  would  never  listen  to  any  proposed 
change  in  the  time.  We  must  try  and  be  patient,  and  live 
on  the  hopes  of  the  future.  And  indeed,  dear  Hal,  I  have 
so  much  to  learn  still,  before  I  can  hope  to  be  worthy  of 
your  great  love,  that  the  time,  long  as  it  seems,  will  be  all 
too  short  in  which  to  accomplish  it. '  Three  months  have 
already  gone,  and  although  I  miss  your  welcome  step  and 
voice,  and  the  clasp  of  your  dear  hand,  daily,  still  I  live 
so  much  in  the  future,  and  am  trying  so  hard  to  be  better 
prepared  to  meet  it  when  it  comes,  that  the  days  come  and 
go  almost  before  I  am  aware  of  their  presence.  Let  us  be 
patient  and  hopeful,  dear  Hal,  for  if  faithful  to  each  other 
nothing  but  death  can  come  between  us  in  the  future.  I 


BEECHWOOD.  H^ 

read  the  last  sentence  over,  and  feel  half  tempted  to  erase 
it,  it  seems  so  much  like  admitting  the  possibility  of  either 
proving  unfaithful,  than  which  I  know  nothing  could  be 
more  impossible.  But  let  it  stand ;  it  will  do  for  us  to 
laugh  together  over  in  the  future." 

What  more  I  wrote  is  not  even  for  you  to  know,  old 
friend  ;  such  things  must  ever  be  too  sacred  for  any  eyes 
but  the  dear  ones  that  will  look  upon  them  to-night  in  a 
distant  city.. 

Minnie  improves  greatly  upon  acquaintance.  She  is 
very  sparkling  and  interesting,  though,  Miss  Lane  says, 
she  is  not  so  good  with  her  books  as  either  Gertie  or  my- 
self. Poor  child  !  I  guess  she  has  been  more  of  a  pet  and 
plaything  all  her  life  to  her  parents,  than  anything  else ; 
and  since  their  death  she  must  have  been  very  lonely  and 
desolate.  She  seems  at  times  very  bright  and  happy, — in- 
deed, is  generally  so  ;  but  again  she  will  be  depressed  and 
troubled  ;  and  I  have  more  than  once  found  her  in  tears, 
of  which  she  always  seemed  much  ashamed,  and  would 
allow  me  to  offer  no  sympathy  or  consolation,  asserting 
ever  that  it  was  only  one  of  her  "blue  days."  I  wish  she 
would  not  be  so  reticent ;  I  sometimes  fear  she  has  a  sorrow 
of  her  own,  unknown  to  any  of  us.  (Truly  every  "heart 
knoweth  its  own  bitterness//  ^*>-  K  _  j»i?-  >--• 

Ralph  and  Minnie  are  great  friends.  '  He  makes  a  great 
pet  of  her;  but  indeed  we  all  do  that,  she  is  so  confiding 
and  childlike,  and  withal  so  pretty  and  delicate.  Even 
Aunt  Martha  calls  her  "darling;"  something  of  which  she 
has  never  been  guilty  toward  either  Gertie  or  myself. 
Ralph  calls  her  his  humming-bird  (and  indeed  she  does 
remind  one  of  that  beautiful  little  bird, — so  airy  and  deli- 
cate), and  seems  more  like  the  Ralph  of  old  times  than  he 
has  since  Kittie  died.  He  came  in  yesterday  with  a  pet 
squirrel  he  had  purchased  from  a  boy  at  the  door,  and  see- 


n6  BEECHWOOD. 

ing  Aunt  Martha  sitting  in  her  usual  place  by  the  window, 
knitting,  her  back  toward  the  door,  he  quietly  deposited 
the  squirrel  upon  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  passed  on  to  a 
seat  by  Minnie.  Aunt  Martha  was  busy,  at  the  moment, 
"taking  up  a  stitch"  she  had  dropped  in  her  knitting,  and 
was  not  aware  of  the  proximity  of  the  squirrel  till  it  leaped 
upon  her  shoulder  and  ran  briskly  up  her  neck  on  to  her  head. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  (her  favorite  expression  when 
startled,)  "what  is  the  matter  with  my  head?"  she  cried, 
dropping  her  knitting,  and  striking  vigorously  about  her 
head  and  shoulders,  one  well-directed  blow  sending  the 
squirrel  flying  into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  where  he  sat, 
doubtless  greatly  surprised  at  his  somewhat  abrupt  dismissal 
from  such  pleasant  quarters. 

"Are  there  any  more?1'  she  inquired,  anxiously,  still 
brushing  about  her  head  and  shoulders. 

"No,  Aunt  Martha,  there  are  no  more,"  mamma  has- 
tened to  say ;  and  everybody  in  the  room  laughed  merrily 
except  herself,  not  excepting  Aunt  Martha,  who  peered 
over  her  spectacles  at  Ralph,  as  she  carefully  adjusted  her 
snowy  cap,  considerably  disarranged  by  the  vigorous  brush- 
ing it  had  received,  and  said,  laughingly, — 

"Ah,  you  are  a  sad  rogue,  Ralph;  1  don't  know  what 
we  are  to  do  with  you  !" 

"With  me,  Aunt  Martha?"  ejaculated  Ralph,  as  though 
greatly  surprised  at  the  insinuation, — which  called  forth 
another  merry  peal  of  laughter  from  us  all. 

"Mamma  looks  grave,"  said  Ralph;  "she  thinks  me 
incorrigible,  I  fear." 

"  I  was  only  wondering,"  said  mamma,  quietly,  "whe- 
ther my  son  would  never  lay  aside  the  pranks  that  are 
barely  excusable'  in  a  half-grown  schoolboy." 

"You  will  have  to  place  him  in  the  navy,  Aunt  Fan- 
nie," laughed  Minnie:  "  that  is  the  place  for  incorrigibles!" 


BEECHWOOD. 


117 


"Or  under  a  woman's  administration!"  said  Ralph, 
maliciously,  looking  at  Minnie. 

Mamma  made  no  reply  to  either  remark,  but  quietly  re- 
sumed her  reading,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  Ralph's 
entrance. 

"  Now,  mamma  thinks  that  to  all  my  other  faults  I  have 
added  that  of  disrespect  to  the  best  mother  that  ever  lived. 
Am  I  past  all  redemption,  dear  mamma?"  said  Ralph, 
throwing  himself  with  a  child's  abandon  at  her  feet,  and 
nestling  his  curly  head  lovingly  in  her  lap. 

"No,  my  son,"  mamma  at  once  kindly  answered, 
stroking  back  the  curls  from  his  white  forehead,  "no;  you 
have  many  noble  qualities,  of  which  I  am  justly  proud, 
and  few  of  which  I  am  ashamed  ;  but  it  always  pains  me  to 
see  you  forget  the  respect  ever  due  to  age,  or  to  hear  you 
speak  flippantly  or  lightly  of  the  sex  to  which  your  mother 
and  sisters  belong." 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  cried  Ralph,  "you  make  me  most  heartily 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  will  apologize  at  once  to  Aunt  Mar- 
tha; and  as  to  the  other,  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  never 
have  cause  to  reprove  me  again  ;  for  I  cannot  forget  that 
all  that  is  good  or  lovable  about  me,  if  anything  there  is, 
has  been  instilled,  through  years  of  untiring  patience,  by 
the  best  of  women, — my  mother."  And  he  arose  hastily, 
kissed  mamma  tenderly,  and  turned  at  once  frankly  to 
Aunt  Martha,  who,  anticipating  the  apology,  held  up  both 
hands  deprecatingly,  and  cried, — 

"No,  no,  Ralph;  have  your  fun.  Boys  must  be  boys; 
and  I  think  Frances  entirely  too  severe  upon  such  inno- 
cent follies." 

"No,  Aunt  Martha;  my  mother  is  right,  as  she  always 
is ;  and  if  you  will  not  hear  my  apologies  for  the  past,  you 
must  at  least  accept  my  promises  of  amendment  for  the 
future.  You  shall  see  what  a  good  boy  I  can  be  when  I 

ii 


n8  BEECHWOOD. 

try,"  he  added,  roguishly;  "and,  to  begin,  let  me  hold  that 
yarn  for  you  to  wind,  for  I  see  that  yours  is  just  exhausted. " 
And  he  sat  patiently,  to  Aunt  Martha's  great  satisfaction, 
through  the  tiresome  ordeal,  telling  her  laughable  stories 
all  the  time,  which  greatly  retarded  the  process  of  winding. 

Minnie  seemed  greatly  astonished  at  mamma's  influence 
over  Ralph,  whispering  to  me, — 

"  How  queer  to  hear  a  grown  man  acknowledge  a  fault 
as  though  he  were  a  child  !" 

Ah,  she  has  yet  to  learn  what  a  precious  mother  we  have, 
and  how  impossible  it  would  be  to  go  contrary  to  her  wishes, 
or  to  do  anything,  willingly,  that  would  give  her  pain. 

April 12.  Spring,  beautiful  and  blooming,  is  upon  us. 
The  trees  are  putting  on  a  delicate  tint  of  green,  many  of 
the  shrubs  and  bushes  are  in  full  leaf,  and  the  little  birds 
are  twittering  and  singing  in  them  all  the  day  long.  The 
meadows  are  dressed  in  their  richest  green,  and  the  daisies 
and  butterflies  spangle  them  with  silver  and  gold,  while  the 
little  brook  sparkles  and  dances  in  the  sunlight  all  the  day 
long.  In  the  beech  grove  the  violets  and  anemones  peep 
up  through  the  dry  leaves,  the  squirrel  frisks  gayly  about,  as 
though  delighted  that  his  winter  store  had  lasted  till  the 
sunshine  came  again,  and  the  whole  woods  are  vocal  with 
the  songs  of  the  birds,  returned  from  their  winter  sojourn 
in  a  warmer  clime.  It  is  spring-time  also  in  my  heart,  and 
it  re-echoes  all  their  gladness.  I  can  scarcely  realize  that 
the  winter,  the  long  winter,  that  I  so  much  dreaded,  has 
indeed  gone  so  quickly.  So  busy  have  we  been,  Gertie, 
Minnie,  and  I,  among  our  books,  that  we  have  had  but 
little  time  in  which  to  indulge  regrets  or  think  of  missing 
pleasures.  Hal  has  finished  his  winter's  course,  and  will  re- 
main permanently  in  New  York,  continuing  his  studies  and 
practice  with  Dr.  Niles,  who  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  oldest 
and  best  physicians  in  the  city.  I  do  not  know  why,  but 


BEECHWOOD. 


119 


I  cannot  feel  quite  reconciled  to  his  settling  in  New  York. 
Raised  in  the  quiet  seclusion  of  our  beautiful  hills,  I  have 
no  longing  for  city  life,  and  fear  I  shall  find  it  irksome 
rather  than  pleasant.  Not  but  that  I  shall  be  happy  any 
place  with  Hal,  but  it  would  have  been  infinitely  more  to  my 
taste  had  he  settled  nearer  home,  in  the  retirement  of  some 
pleasant  little  village.  Then,  too,  it  is  so  far  from  mamma. 
But,  as  Uncle  Ralph  often  says,  "Sufficient  unto  the  day 
is  the  evil  thereof."  I  will  not  borrow  trouble. 

There  is  a  secret  on  my  heart  to-night,  old  book,  that 
weighs  heavily.  I  cannot  decide  whether  it  is  best  for  me 
to  tell  it  to  mamma  or  not,  since  it  does  not  concern  my- 
self, but  another;  so  I  will  even  tell  it  to  you,  dear  old 
receptacle  of  all  my  woes  and  joys,  and  if  the  disclosure 
brings  no  relief,  I  shall  at  least,  perhaps,  be  better  able  to 
decide  what  it  is  best  for  me  to  do.  Walking  this  evening 
in  the  early  twilight,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Minnie  among 
the  trees  in  the  orchard,  and  thought  I  would  go  out  and 
join  her;  but  as  I  reached  the  garden  gate  I  saw  she  was 
not  alone, — a  gentleman  was  with  her.  "  Ah,  it  is  Ralph," 
I  thought,  "the  sly  rogue;"  for  he  has  been  with  her 
much  of  late.  But  an  instant  afterward  I  saw  my  mistake. 
It  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  me,  and  Minnie  seemed  very 
fond  of  him,  leaning  upon  his  arm  and  looking  up  tenderly 
into  his  face.  I  felt  myself  an  intruder,  and  slipped  away 
unseen.  But  the  thought  haunts  me  constantly,  "If  he  is 
a  friend  of  Minnie's,  why  does  he  not  come  boldly  to  the 
house  and  ask  for  her?  Why  this  covert  way  of  meeting?" 
No  one  would  oppose  them.  And  then,  "Who  is  he?" 
Somehow,  all  evening  I  find  myself  connecting  this  stranger 
with  her  depressed  moods ;  why,  I  know  not. 

Minnie  came  in  shortly  after  I  reached  the  house,  put 
lingered  only  a  moment  before  retiring  to  her  room.  I  said, 
carelessly, — 


120  BEECHWOOD. 

"Why,  where  have  you  been,  Minnie,  so  long?" 

She  blushed  crimson,  and  answered,  evasively, — 

"  Only  taking  a  little  walk." 

"Where?"  I  persisted,  innocently. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  sajd,  "In  the  gar- 
den ;"  and  went  at  once  to  her  room. 

So  she  wishes  to  keep  the  visit  secret ;  and  for  all  it  may 
be  perfectly  right  and  proper  (how  could  it  be  otherwise 
with  dear  little  Minnie?),  I  cannot  help  feeling  restless  and 
uneasy.  I  wish  mamma  had  seen  them,  instead  of  myself, 
for  I  feel  as  though  she  ought  to  know  it,  and  yet  I  cannot 
bear  to  betray  a  secret  evidently  desired  to  be  so  kept.  At 
any  rate,  I  will  wait  a  little  and  see. 

April  28.  Minnie's  friend  has  again  been  here,  and,  as 
fate  would  have  it,  I  have  the  second  time  been  the  unwill- 
ing spectator  of  the  interview.  I  had  been  over  the  hill 
to  carry  some  broth  and  delicacies  to  old  Granny  Weir, 
who  remains  very  feeble  in  spite  of  the  pleasant  weather, 
and  she  detained  me  so  long,  telling  me,  in  her  rambling, 
disconnected  way,  of  her  sickness  and  troubles,  that  it  was 
quite  late  before  I  could  get  started  home,  and  the  young 
moon  was  throwing  a  soft  light  down  over  the  hill-tops  as  I 
entered  the  back  gate  of  the  orchard,  glad  to  be  so  near  home. 
As  I  ran  hurriedly  forward,  the  murmur  of  voices  attracted 
my  attention,  and  a  moment  afterward  I  saw,  quite  close 
beside  me,  Minnie  and  her  strange  lover  seated  upon  one 
of  our  rustic  seats  beneath  a  tree.  One  arm  was  about  her 
waist,  and  the  other  hand  inclosed  both  of  Minnie's,  who 
seemed  perfectly  reconciled  to  be  so  imprisoned.  Fortu- 
nately, they  saw  me  almost  as  soon  as  I  did  them,  and  rose 
hastily,  evidently  much  embarrassed ;  at  least  Minnie  was 
so;  but  the  gentleman,  with  perfect  sangfroid,  lifted  his 
hat  to  me  politely,  and  said  to  Minnie, — 

"  I  must  not  detain  you  any  longer,  but  am  very  happy 


BEECHWOOD.  I2i 

to  have  chanced  upon  you  so  unexpectedly  to-night;"  and, 
with  a  polite  bow,  he  was  gone. 

I  was  as  much  embarrassed  as  Minnie,  for  her  sake,  and 
walked  on  slowly  toward  the  house,  not  knowing  what 
to  say.  "  '  Chanced  upon  her  unexpectedly,'  indeed  !  "  I 
thought,  half  indignant  at  his  attempt  to  deceive  me. 
Minnie  walked  beside  me  in  silence  till  we  reached  the 
garden  gate;  then  she  said,  half  pettishly, — 

"You  will  not  betray  me,  Nannie?" 

"To  whom,  Minnie?" 

"Aunt  Fannie,  of  course." 

"  Do  you  think  it  right  to  deceive  mamma  so,  Minnie  ?" 

"No,  Nannie;  but  I  love  him  so  dearly,"  she  answered, 
in  a  half-whisper  that  touched  my  heart. 

"Poor  little  Minnie  !"  I  said  ;  "  I  can  sympathize  with 
you  in  your  love,  but  not  in  your  wish  to  conceal  it.  Why 
does  he  not  come  boldly  to  the  house  and  claim  you?" 

"My  step-mother  opposed  him  so  bitterly  that  he  is 
afraid  to  venture  again." 

""But  he  cannot  hope  to  win  you  without  coming,"  I 
answered.  "If  he  is  worthy  of  your  love,  he  need  fear 
no  opposition  from  mamma,  I  am  sure." 

"He  is  of  one  of  the  best  families  in  New  York,"  she 
said. 

"  Then,  if  he  is  worthy  of  the  name  he  bears,  I  am  quite 
sure  your  fears  are  groundless.  Mamma  would  never  op- 
pose anything  that  would  add  to  your  happiness." 

"But  you  will  not  tell  her  of  our  meeting,  Nannie?" 

"On  one  condition,  dear  Minnie,  I  will  faithfully  guard 
your  secret;  and  that  is,  that  you  will  meet  him  so  no 
more,  and  either  tell  mamma  your  wishes  yourself,  or  else 
let  him  come  up  boldly,  as  he  should  do,  for  himself.  You 
must  not  think  me  hard,  dear  Minnie,"  I  said,  "for  I  feel 
that  I  am  almost  as  guilty  as  yourself,  in  hiding  this  from 


T22  BEECHWOOD. 

mamma ;  for  I  must  now  tell  you  that  this  is  not  the  first 
time  that  I  have  accidentally  chanced  upon  you  together, 
and  I  really  feel  that  it  must  be  the  last." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Nannie,  for  not  betraying  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  know  it  was  not  right  to  act  so,  and  I  will  write 
to  him  to-night  that  he  must  in  future  come  to  the  house. 
We  must  risk  it,  I  suppose." 

And  then  we  said  no  more,  but  came  into  the  house  to- 
gether ;  and  I  feel  greatly  relieved ;  for  this  thing  of  keep- 
ing a  secret  from  mamma  has  weighed  heavily  on  my 
heart,  yet  I  am  very  thankful  not  to  have  to  betray  dear 
little  Minnie. 

May  2.  Last  Sunday,  Uncle  Ralph  and  Ralph  came  out 
as  usual  to  spend  the  day  with  us,  and  we  all  went  to  the 
church  on  the  hill  together.  It  was  a  lovely  day,  so  we 
preferred  walking  to  riding;  and  as  we  strolled  along 
through  the  green  lane  we  overtook  Nettie  and  her  aunt, 
also  going  to  church.  As  we  walked  on  together,  my  mind 
went  back  to  another  Sunday  morning,  nearly  two  years 
ago,  the  day  we  first  met  Ellis  Ray,  and  dwelt  upon  the 
changes  that  have  taken  place  since  then.  It  was  a 
happy  group  that  sat  that  pleasant  morning  beneath 
the  maple-trees  on  the  hill-side, — a  happy  group  ;  but, 
alas,  how  is  it  scattered  now !  and  we  can  never  be  so 
united  again.  Of  that  merry  group  of  eight,  just  half  this 
morning  are  together,  and  of  the  rest  no  two  are  in  the 
same'  place.  Ralph,  Gertie,  Nettie,  and  I  still  walk  the 
old  familiar  paths ;  Charlie  is  at  Yale,  Hal  in  New  York, 
Ellis  Ray  at  Cambridge  studying  for  the  ministry,  and  Kit- 
tie,  precious  little  Kittie,  is  with  the  angels.  I  am  afraid 
I  did  not  hear  much  of  dear  old  Mr.  White's  sermon,  my 
mind  was  so  preoccupied  by  these  sad  thoughts.  I  know 
that  he  delivered,  in  his  own  simple  and  impressive  man- 
ner, a  beautiful  discourse  from  the  words,  "  And  there  shall 


BEECHWOOD. 


123 


be  no  night  there  ;"  but,  in  spite  of  his  simple  and  touching 
eloquence,  my  mind  would  go  back  wandering  to  the  past, 
— the  beautiful  and  sunny  past, — over  which  now  we  can 
only  plant  flowers  of  remembrance. 

As  we  came  from  the  church,  I  felt  Minnie,  who  walked 
beside  me,  give  a  sudden  start,  and,  following  the  direction 
of  her  eyes,  I  saw  her  strange  lover  standing  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  door.  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  and  I  regret 
it  with  all  my  heart,  but  he  repulses  me  strangely.  He  is 
a  fine,  gentlemanly-looking  man,  and  evidently  has  seen 
good  society,  but  my  heart  involuntarily  shrinks  whenever 
I  think  of  him.  There  is  an  inexpressible  something  that 
repulses  me,  though  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  tell  what  it 
is.  He  came  forward  at  once  to  meet  us,  and  Minnie  in- 
troduced him  as  Colonel  Leslie,  from  New  York.  He  was 
very  polite, — too  much  so,  I  thought ;  and  when  we  had 
passed  the  compliments  of  the  day,  I  dropped  back  with 
Nettie  and  Gertie,  and  left  him  to  Minnie,  undisturbed. 
Gertie  and  Nettie  were  full  of  curiosity  as  to  who  he  was, 
and  where  he  came  from ;  but  I  said,  simply,  that  he  was 
an  old  acquaintance  of  Minnie's,  from  New  York. 

"And  what  in  the  world  brings  him  here?"  said 
Ralph,  a  little  discontentedly,  I  thought;  for  he  had  joined 
us  while  we  were  discussing  the  stranger. 

"  His  own  inclinations,  I  presume,"  I  answered,  a  little 
maliciously:  "they  are  the  motive  power  in  gentlemen's 
movements  generally."  • 

Ralph  made  a  little  ugly  face  at  me,  but  said  no  more ; 
and  Nettie  and  Gertie  soon  forgot,  or  wholly  ignored,  the 
presence  of  the  stranger,  in  the  thoughts  of  their  own 
happy  hearts.  But  not  so  with  me.  I  was  troubled.  I 
did  not  like  this  man,  I  was  forced  to  confess;  and  then, 
too,  I  had  an  idea  that  Ralph's  interest  in  Minnie  was  not 
simply  a  passing  one  ;  and  although  I  had  always  hoped  it 


124 


BEECHWOOD. 


might  have  been  Nettie  who  should  win  him,  I  could  not 
brook  the  thought  of  another  being  preferred  to  him. 

When  we  reached  home,  mamma,  who  was  a  little  in 
advance  of  us,  waited  upon  the  steps  until  we  came  up. 
She  had  noticed  the  stranger  with  Minnie,  and,  sup- 
posing him  to  be  an  old  acquaintance  of  hers,  now  waited 
for  the  introduction,  which  was  given,  and  then  kindly 
invited  him  to  remain  to  dinner.  This  he  politely  de- 
clined, but  said  that,  with  mamma's  permission,  he 
would  call  in  the  evening;  which  he  did.  He  was  very 
entertaining  and  agreeable,  and  I  began  to  think  that  after 
all  I  had  been  harsh  in  my  judgment  of  him.  He  came 
again  the  next  evening,  and  then  again  the  next,  apologizing 
for  the  frequency  of  his  visits  by  saying  he  was  detained 
by  business  in  the  neighborhood,  and  had  no  other  ac- 
quaintances. Then  he  took  Minnie  riding,  the  last  day  of 
his  visit,  and  it  was  quite  late  when  they  returned,  and 
dear  little  Minnie  looked  so  bright  and  happy  that  I 
blamed  myself  again  and  again  that  I  could  not  enter  more 
fully  into  her  feelings.  I  said  to  myself,  "It  is  all  because 
I  know  of  his  meeting  her  clandestinely.  But  for  that,  I 
should  probably  admire  him  as  much  as  she  could  desire;" 
and  I  made  many  resolutions  to  do  better  by  them  in  future. 
But  yesterday,  as  I  sat  at  my  desk,  writing  to  Hal,  mamma 
came  into  my  room,  and,  closing  the  door,  said  to  me, — 
"I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little  alone,  Nannie." 
My  first  thought  was  that  she  had  bad  news  to  tell  me, 
and  I  gasped  out, — 

"Oh,  mamma,  what  is  it?     Hal?     Charlie?" 
But  she  soon  assured  me  all  was  right  with  both  ;  that  it 
was  of  Minnie  she  wished   to  speak.     I   breathed   more 
freely  ;  and  she  said, — 

"  I  cannot  help  seeing  that  Minnie  is  very  much  inter- 
ested in  Colonel  Leslie,  and,  as  I  naturally  feel  anxious  that 


BEECHWOOD. 


125 


she  should  do  well  in  life,  I  wish  we  knew  more  of  his  an- 
tecedents. Does  she  ever  speak  of  him?" 

"  She  says  he  belongs  to  one  of  the  first  families  in  New 
York,"  I  answered. 

"  He  evidently  has  seen  good  society,  and  seems  to  be  well 
educated  and  refined,"  said  mamma,  half  questioningly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered;  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not 
speak  in  his  favor. 

"Nannie,"  said  mamma,  at  length,  "do  you  know  any- 
thing of  Colonel  Leslie?" 

"No,  mamma,  nothing;  nothing  indeed,"  said  I,  feel- 
ing miserable  and  guilty  in  the  thought  that  I  had  to  con- 
ceal even  so  trifling  a  thing  from  mamma. 

"I  thought  you  did  not  seem  prepossessed  in  his  favor; 
and  you  know,  dear,  I  have  a  right  to  know  anything  and 
everything  that  can  in  the  least  affect  Minnie's  happiness." 

"I  know,  mamma;  and  indeed  I  have  no  good  reason 
for  not  liking  Colonel  Leslie.  I  do  not  dislike  him;  only, 
for  some  unaccountable  reason,  he  repulses  me  strangely.  It 
may  be  only,  you  know,  mamma,  because,  because — well, 
because  I  have  a  very  good  excuse  for  not  feeling  much  in- 
terest in  any  strange  gentleman  at  present,"  I  answered, 
blushing  violently  as  I  spoke. 

Mamma  kindly  overlooked  my  embarrassment,  and 
said, — 

"Yes,  dear;  but  that  would  not  produce  the  feeling  of 
repulsion  of  which  you  spoke,  and  which,  now  that  you  have 
spoken  of  it,  I  must  confess  I  have  felt  from  the  first  myself, 
though  perhaps  not  so  strongly  as  yourself.  It  was  that 
feeling  that  first  prompted  me  to  speak  with  you  about 
him,  to  see,  if  possible,  if  I  stood  alone  in  the  matter." 

"  Minnie  told  me  her  step-mother  disliked  him  very 
much,  but  did  not  say  for  what  reason." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  a  good  man,"  said  mamma;  "but 


126  BEECHWOOD. 

we  must  not  pass  judgment  hastily.  I  will  have  Uncle 
Ralph  write  to  New  York  and  make  inquiries  concerning 
him ;  and  in  the  mean  time  we  must  try  and  overcome 
this  feeling  as  much  as  possible,  for  Minnie's  sake.  Does 
she  talk  of  him  much?" 

"  Very  little  ;  and  that  is  one  thing  that  seems  so  strange. 
You  know  she  is  very  communicative,  generally ;  and  al- 
though her  heart  is  wrapped  up  in  him,  evidently,  she  does 
not  seem  to  like  us  to  ask  questions  concerning  him  at  all." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  has  not  chosen  wisely ;  but  I  shall  hope 
for  the  best,"  said  mamma,  as  she  again  left  me  alone. 

Oh,  what  would  I  not  have  given  to  be  able  to  tell 
her  all  I  knew  !  But  for  my  promise'  sake  I  dared  not. 
I  have  felt  no  disposition  whatever  to  betray  Minnie's 
secret  to  any  one,  not  even  to  Gertie,  who  knows  all.  of  my 
own ;  but  the  thought  of  being  compelled  to  conceal  any- 
thing from  mamma,  even  the  veriest  trifle,  makes  me  feel 
guilty  and  miserable.  Dear  mamma,  whose  life  has  been 
spent  in  trying  to  inculcate  principles  of  integrity  and 
honor  in  her  children,  and  who  has  so  often  said  to  us, 
"Whatever  you  do,  never  try  to  deceive  or  equivocate. 
Always  come  to  me  with  the  truth, — not  a  part,  but  all  of 
it, — and  speak  up  frankly  and  freely,  and  the  wrong  you 
may  have  committed  will  be  at  least  half  obliterated  by 
such  a  course."  And  so  we  had  always  found  it.  And  yet 
now,  when  she  no  longer  admonished  me  as  a  child  but 
often  counseled  with  me  as  a  woman,  my  first  act  was  to 
ignore  her  former  lessons  and  begin  deception.  Is  it  not 
enough  to  make  me  scorn  Colonel  Leslie,  to  think  he 
should  be  the  guilty  cause  of  it  all? 

I  finished  my  letter  to  Hal  in  no  very  enviable  mood, 
and  took  occasion  to  speak  incidentally  of  Colonel  Leslie 
in  it,  to  see  if  he  perchance  knew  aught  of  him.  I  am  sure 
if  he  does  he  will  not  fail  to  mention  him  in  his  reply. 


BEECHWOOD. 


127 


Dear  Hal !  how  happy  I  am  to  know  that  he  is  above  re- 
proach !  I  am  sure,  much  as  he  loves  me,  he  would  sooner 
give  me  up  than  do,  or  counsel  me  to  do,  a  dishonorable 
thing.  Our  first  thought,  almost,  was  to  speak  with  mamma 
of  our  wishes  and  plans ;  and  had  they  been  opposed  or 
forbidden,  and  argument  and  entreaty  alike  failed  to  over- 
come the  objection,  I  should  only  have  waited  quietly,  and 
am  sure  Hal  would  have  done  the  same,  until  I  was  of  age, 
or  rather  until  I  was  twenty-one,  and  then  firmly  but  re- 
spectfully have  asserted  my  rights  as  a  woman  to  judge  for 
myself.  I  should  have  scorned  deception,  for  I  do  believe 
that  evil  alone  can  spring  from  it.  /There  is  a  time — all 
under  twenty-one,  I  will  say — in  which  I  think  it  a  daugh- 
ter's duty  to  yield  implicitly  to  her  mother's  judgment, 
especially  in  matters  matrimonial  j  unless,  indeed,  a  mar- 
riage averse  to  her  feelings  should  be  urged ;  then  she  should, 
at  all  ages,  be  immovable  as  granite.  But  when  she  has 
reached  the  age  of  twenty-one  her  mind  should  be  suffi- 
ciently matured  to  decide  for  herself,  and  she  should  always 
be  allowed  so  to  do.  Not  that  she  may  not  listen  to  the 
advice  of  her  friends, — that  none  are  ever  too  old  to  do, — 
but  at  the  same  time  she  is  herself  better  able  to  decide 
what  will  promote  her  own  happiness  than  another,  even 
though  that  other  should  be  a  dearly-beloved  mother. 

I  once  expressed  these  thoughts  to  mamma,  and  she  said 
that  I  was  right ;  that  she  thought  parents  often  caused 
themselves  and  their  children  much  unhappiness  by  treat- 
ing them  as  children,  incompetent  to  decide  for  themselves, 
after  they  had  reached  a  mature  age.  I  incidentally  spoke 
of  these  things  to  Minnie  also,  yesterday,  hoping  to  in- 
fluence her  to  avoid  haste  in  her  love-affair ;  but  she  an- 
swered— somewhat  impatiently,  it  seemed  to  me — that  she 
thought  a  woman  competent  to  decide  for  herself  long  be- 
fore she  was  twenty-one  years  old  :  so  I  said  no  more. 


128  BEECHWOOD. 

May  20.  Uncle  Ralph  is  going  away,  to  be  absent,  he 
says,  an  indefinite  time,  but,  at  the  very  least,  all  summer. 
It  is  too  bad.  How  can  we  get  along  without  him?  And 
Charlie  and  Hal  so  soon  to  come,  too ;  for  Hal  has  written 
that  he  will  spend  several  weeks  at  home  during  the  warm 
weather.  How  can  we  do  anything  without  Uncle  Ralph, 
when  he  is  the  life  of  all  our  picnics  and  parties,  as  well  as 
our  home-pleasures?  He  has  not  seemed  quite  himself  for 
several  months.  We  have  not  seen  nearly  so  much  of  him 
as  usual,  this  winter,  and  now  that  this  hateful  trip  is  in 
contemplation  I  suppose  we  shall  lose  him  for  the  summer 
altogether.  But  I  am  selfish  so  to  speak  and  feel.  Mamma 
says  she  fears  he  is  troubled  about  something, — business 
perhaps, — and  believes  the  trip  will  do  him  good.  When 
he  first  spoke  of  it,  he  was  lying  listlessly  upon  the  sofa  in 
the  drawing-room, — a  rather  new  thing  for  Uncle  Ralph  to 
be  listless,  but  he  does  not  seem  quite  well  of  late,  I  think, 
— and  all  at  once  he  roused  up,  and  said  to  mamma, — 

"I  have  about  made  up  my  mind  to  spend  my  summer 
in  traveling,  Fannie,  and  think  I  shall  start  for  Ben's 
next  week." 

Mamma  looked  at  him  a  moment,  thoughtfully,  and 
then  said, — 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Ralph;  rest  and  change  will  do 
you  good,  I  am  sure ;  you  do  not  seem  at  all  well." 

"  Oh,  I  am  well  enough,  so  far  as  that  is  concerned,  but 
I  feel  so  tired  and  nerveless  all  the  while;  I  shall  accom- 
plish nothing  if  I  stay  at  home." 

"And  what  are  we  to  do,  I  wonder,  without  Uncle 
Ralph?"  I  questioned,  disconsolately. 

"  What  you  will  soon  have  to  do  all  your  life  long,"  he 
said.  The  first  direct  reference  he  has  ever  made  to  Hal's 
and  my  engagement. 

"  *  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,"  "  I  quoted. 


BEECHIVOOD. 


129 


"  The  fact  of  future  banishment  will  not  make  the  present 
absence  a  whit  more  endurable." 

"  'What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,'  since  quota- 
tions are  the  order  of  the  day,"  he  answered. 

"Uncle  Ralph,  will  you  write  to  me  when  you  are 
away?"  I  said,  drawing  up  my  favorite  little  footstool  be- 
side the  sofa,  and  seating  myself  thereon.  "I  don't  mean 
to  mamma,  and  Ralph,  and  Charlie,  with  a  word  tossed 
gingerly  out,  now  and  then,  to  Gertie  and  myself,  as  you 
would  toss  crumbs  to  a  kitten  ;  but  good,  long,  bona-fide 
letters  to  myself,  Miss  Nannie  Cleve ;  full  of  narrative,  de- 
scription, and  adventure;  not  omitting,  of  course,  always 
the  good  advice  and  counsel  I  shall  so  much  need,  and 
have  no  one  to  give  me  in  your  absence.  Promise  me, 
Uncle  Ralph,  promise  me,"  I  persisted,  laying  my  head 
down  upon  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  coaxingly.  I  don't 
know  why,  but  I  felt  at  that  moment  that  I  would  give 
anything  in  the  world  to  have  Uncle  Ralph  speak  caress- 
ingly to  me,  as  he  used  to  do  in  the  days  that,  I  fear, 
have  passed  forever.  '  The  thought  of  his  going  away  for 
so  long  a  time,  perhaps  being  ill  away  from  us,  together 
with  the  remembrance  of  ail  he  had  been  to  us,  of  his 
great  care  and  love  during  the  sad  weeks  attendant  upon 
dear  little  Kittie's  death  and  Charlie's  illness,  all  rushed 
over  me  in  a  flood  of  unwonted  tenderness,  and  I  no  longer 
felt  myself  the  half-dignified  young  lady  into  which  I  had 
been  transformed  for  a  few  months  past,  but  became  again 
the  little,  dependent,  clinging  child,  whose  world  was  our 
own  fireside,  and  whose  chief  idols  were  mamma  and  Uncle 
Ralph. 

And  here  occurred  something  that  even  ye\  sends  the  blood 
in  a  hot  current  to  my  face  as  I  think  of  it.  Instead  of  the 
caressing  word  my  heart  longed  for,  Uncle  Ralph  said  to 
me,  in  a  tone  so  low  as  to  be  unheard  by  any  but  myself, — 

12 


I30 


BEECHWOOD. 


"  You  should  not  forget,  Nannie,  nor  permit  me  to  for- 
get, that  you  have  no  longer  a  right  to  ask,  nor  I  to  receive, 
such  a  proposition." 

The  tone  was  so  cold,  and  the  words  were  so  concise, 
that  I  felt  as  though  a  bucket  of  cold  water  had  been  sud- 
denly dashed  over  me;  but  Uncle  Ralph  kindly  covered 
my  confusion  by  saying  aloud,  as  though  in  answer  to  my 
request,  as  he  arose  from  the  sofa, — 

"I  cannot  promise  more  than  a  general  letter  at  first, 
till  I  see  how  I  am  situated.  Fannie,  can  you  give  me  the 
number  of  Ben's  house  in  St.  Louis?"  And  as  mamma 
arose  to  comply  with  his  request,  I  made  my  escape  from 
the  room. 

I  can  no  longer  doubt  that  Uncle  Ralph  was  seriously 
displeased  at  my  forming  an  engagement  with  Hal,  and 
doubtless  thinks  I  have  done  a  very  foolish  thing  to 
allow  myself  to  think  of  such  matters  at  all,  at  my  age. 
And  what  can  I  do  about  it?  It  is  very  possible  it  was, 
indeed  I  am  inclined  myself  to  think  it  was,  a  little  prema- 
ture in  us  both;  but  we  love  each  other,  and  the  thing  is 
done,  and  now  cannot  easily  be  undone;  though  it  might 
have  been  much  better  had  we  waited  awhile  before  enter- 
ing into  this  engagement.  Ah  !  what  would  Hal  think, 
could  he  read  this  entry?  It  is  not  that  he  is  less  dear  to 
me,  that  I  so  write,  but  that  my  heart  is  very  sore  at  the 
thought  of  having  thus  incurred  Uncle  Ralph's  lasting  dis- 
approbation. I  have  always  been  his  pet  and  favorite,  and 
now  for  many  months  he  gives  me  as  little  time  and  atten- 
tion as  possible, — indeed,  always  avoids  being  alone  with  me 
a  moment.  Even  Hal's  love,  precious  as  it  is  to  me,  can- 
not wholly  compensate  for  this  change.  My  heart  yearns 
sadly  for  the  thoughtful  tenderness  of  .old  ;  and  I  seriously 
doubt  if  I  am  as  happy  now  as  I  was  in  the  bright  days  when 
we  were  all  children  together  and  Uncle  Ralph  was  our  king. 


BEECHWOOD.  !3! 

May  22.  This  afternoon,  feeling  sad  and  altogether  "  out 
of  sorts,"  I  coaxed  Gertie  away  for  quite  a  long  ramble. 
Toward  sunset,  as  we  were  returning  home,  winding 
around  the  base  of  quite  a  high  hill,  I  could  not  but  notice 
how  beautifully  the  lights  and  shadows  fell  across  the  green- 
sward over  which  we  were  walking.  Sometimes,  upon  de- 
scending a  little,  we  were  quite  in  the  shadow,  and  again, 
a  moment  later,  we  would  come  out  into  the  soft,  bright 
sunlight,  that  fell  as  clearly  and  beautifully  around  us  as 
though  there  were  no  shadows  in  the  world.  At  last  we 
descended  quite  into  the  valley,  and  there  it  seemed  so 
chill  in  the  shade,  that  involuntarily  we  quickened  our 
steps,  and  I  felt  a  corresponding  depression  in  my  spirits, 
as  I  said,  "  How  unpleasant  it  is,  since  we  no  longer  have 
the  sun  !"  I  looked  up;  the  brow  of  the  hill  was  still 
glowing  in  the  warm  light,  and  upon  the  hill-side  lay  the 
flecks  of  golden  light  and  alternate  shadow  through  which 
we  had  so  recently  passed ;  and  this  is  what  they  told  me, 
as  we  hurried  along : — 

GATHER  UP  THE  SUNSHINE. 

"Gather  up  the  sunshine  ! 

Sit  not  idly  down, 
Dreaming  in  the  shadows, 

Till  the  day  is  gone. 
Life  was  made  for  action  — 

Up  !  with  right  good  will ! 
Lest  the  twilight  shadows 

Find  you  dreaming  still. '» 

Always  in  the  valley 

Shadows  darkest  lie  ; 
But  look  up, — the  sunbeams 

Gild  a  cloudless  sky. 
And  while  we  sit  grieving 

In  the  shadow's  cold, 
All  the  mountain's  summit 

Tinted  is  with  gold. 


I32  BEECHWOOD. 

"  But  the  way  is  toilsome  !" 

Yes  ;  but  were  it  not, 
All  our  pleasant  dreaming 

Could  not  change  our  lot. 
Slower  steps,  and  feebler, 

E'en  than  ours,  have  trod 
Oft  the  mountain's  summit 

And  the  sunlit  sod. 

If  the  goal  you're  seeking 

On  the  mountain  lies, 
Step  by  step  advancing 

Brings  you  to  the  prize. 
All  may  find  the  sunlight, 

If  they  seek  with  care, — 
For  'tis  ever  glowing, 

Warm  and  bright,  somewhere. 

Gather  up  the  sunshine 

\Yheresoe'er  it's  found, — 
Here  and  there  a  bright  thread 

On  the  darker  ground. 
Cast  the  shadows  from  you ; 

Bid  them  all  depart ; 
But  gather  up  the  sunshine, 

And  hide  it  in  your  heart. 

May  26.  I  have  just  had  a  long,  dear  letter  from  Hal, 
so  full  of  loving  words  and  bright  hopes  for  the  future 
that  I  cannot  regret  the  chance,  whatever  pain  it  may  cost 
me,  that  linked  our  fates  so  closely  together.  We  belong 
to  each  other;  and  let  come  what  will,  death  only  can 
divide  us.  I  citenwish,  heroine-like,  that  something 
would  occur  to  test  our  love,  just  to  show  how  nobly  we 
could  bear  it.  But  in  our  plain,  matter-of-fact,  quiet 
life  there  is  little  can  occur  to  cause  even  a  ripple  in  the 
smooth  current  of  our  love,  much  less  to  test  its  strength 
and  depth;  so  we  must  even  be  content  with  the  assurance 
from  one  another  that,  should  such  trial  ever  come,  we 
would  be  immutable,  unchangeable,  constant  to  the  end. 

As  I  anticipated  he    would  do,  he  speaks  of  Colonel 


BEECHWOOD. 


133 


Leslie,  and  asks  how  he  happens  to  visit  our  house.  He 
says,  "He  is  of  a  good  family;  but  I  am  sure  it  will  be 
sufficient  for  me  to  say  to  my  Nannie  that  his  acquaint- 
ance is  no  honor  to  any  lady,  to  cause  her  to  have  as  little 
as  possible  to  say  or  do  with  him."  What  strange  things 
impressions  are  !  With  no  knowledge  whatever  of  the  man 
or  his  antecedents,  I  yet  had  that  instinctive  shrinking 
from  him  that  I  should  have  had  if  his  character  had  been 
well  known  to  me.  How  can  Minnie  be  attracted  to  him, 
when  she  is  herself  so  sweet  and  delicate  ?  I  went  at  once 
to  mamma,  and  told  her  what  Hal  said,  and  she  seemed 
greatly  distressed  by  it. 

"What  can  I  do,  Nannie?"  she  said.  "  I  never  was  so 
at  a  loss  in  my  life  before.  Poor  Minnie  !  Poor  child  ! 
Do  you  think  she  has  any  idea  of  his  character?" 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  say,  mamma,  but  I  am  afraid  she  has, 
she  is  always  so  unwilling  to  speak  of  him." 

May  27.  At  this  point  in  my  diary,  last  night,  mamma 
came  into  my  room  with  a  letter  from  New  York,  in  answer 
to  Uncle  Ralph's  inquiries  in  regard  to  Colonel  Leslie,  in 
her  hand. 

"  Nannie/'  she  said,  "it  is  worse  even  than  we  feared. 
Listen."  And  she  read  : — 

"  'DEAR  RALPH, — Colonel  George  Leslie,  of  whom  you 
inquire,  is  the  son  of  the  late  Major  Leslie,  an  old  and  valued 
citizen  of  New  York,  lately  deceased  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say 
he  has  never  been  any  credit  to  his  honored  father's  name. 
He  is,  by  courtesy  to  the  family,  received  into  our  best  so- 
ciety, but  bears  in  private  a  most  disreputable  character ;  is, 
plainly  speaking,  a  notorious  roue.  If  I  had  daughters,  I 
would  rather  put  them  into  a  convent  for  life  than  have 
them  thrown  into  the  society  of  such  men  as  George  Leslie. 
"  '  Yours  in  haste,  B.  K.  LEE.' 

12* 


!34  BEECHWOOD. 

"  He  is  an  old  friend  of  your  Uncle  Ralph's,  and  we  can 
rely  implicitly  on  all  that  he  says.  Poor  little  Minnie  ! 
what  a  blow  it  will  be  to  her!  But  she  is  young,  and  will, 
I  trust,  overcome  her  preference  easily,  when  she  knows 
Colonel  Leslie's  true  character.  How  I  do  shrink  from 
giving  the  poor  child  pain  !  but,  like  the  skillful  physician, 
I  must,  I  suppose,  probe  deeply,  if  I  would  effect  a  cure." 

Before  I  could  reply,  I  heard  a  little  rap  upon  my  door, 
which  I  at  once  recognized  as  Minnie's. 

"What  shall  I  do,  mamma?  Invite  her  in?"  said  I, 
feeling  quite  guilty  over  the  poor  girl's  troubles. 

"Perhaps  it  were  as  well  to  have  it  over,  at  once," 
mamma  answered,  and  I  opened  the  door. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you,  Aunt  Fannie,"  said 
Minnie,  prettily,  "  and  Gertie  said  she  believed  you  had 
come  in  here,  so  I  took  the  liberty  of  following  you,  as 
usual." 

"  That  was  right,  darling,"  said  mamma,  kindly.  "Had 
you  something  special  to  say  to  me,  or  did  you  only  feel 
the  drawing  of  mutual  attraction?" 

Minnie  laughed,  and  answered  that  she  believed  it  was 
a  little  of  both.  "I  wanted  to  ask  your  consent  to  my 
spending  a  few  weeks  in  New  York  City  with  an  old 
schoolmate  of  mine,  Annie  May.  She  is  very  anxious  to 
have  me  come." 

"I  am  always  happy  to  have  you  enjoy  yourself,  dear 
Minnie,"  said  mamma,  "and,  if  the  visit  is  a  suitable  one 
in  all  respects,  can  of  course  have  no  objection.  Who  is 
your  friend  ?' ' 

"Oh,  she  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  little  ladies  imagina- 
ble; has  a  beautiful  home,  moves  in  the  best  society,  and 
I  am  sure  would  be  unexceptionable  even  in  your  critical 
eyes,"  said  Minnie,  laughing, — a  little  nervously,  I 
thought. 


BEECHWOOD. 


'35 


"When  do  you  wish  to  go,  dear?"  said  mamma,  evi- 
dently at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

"  Oh,  in  a  few  days;  any  time  soon,  she  says." 

"What  did  you  say  her  name  was,  Minnie?"  I  asked, 
only  by  way  of  filling  up  an  awkward  pause  and  giving 
mamma  a  moment  for  thought. 

"Annie  May;  and  she  is  charming." 

"  How  old  is  she?"  still  by  way  of  giving  mamma  time. 

"Twenty-three." 

"Ah  !   quite  a  marriageable  age  !"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  she  is  already  married,  for  more  than  two  years," 
said  Minnie. 

"  Who  was  she,  dear?"  asked  mamma. 

"She  is  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Harvey  Linn,  who  is  equally 
charming  with  herself.  I  remember  so  well  the  first  time 
I  ever  saw  her, — one  day  when  she  came  to  the  school  to 
see  Annie."  And  she  dashed  away  nervously  into  a  long 
narrative  of  school-day  life. 

"But  what  was  her  own  name  then?"  said  mamma, 
quietly,  evidently  noticing  Minnie's  flurried  manner. 

"Annie  Leslie,"  said  Minnie,  driven  to  the  point; 
"and  her  father  was  the  finest-looking  old  gentleman  I 
ever  saw,"  evidently  trying  hard  not  to  seem  embarrassed. 

"Is  she  Colonel  Leslie's  sister?"  asked  mamma. 

"Yes,"  said  Minnie,  with  visible  embarrassment;  and 
nothing  more  was  said  for  several  minutes.  At  last  mamma 
said, — 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  scarcely  be  proper,  Minnie,  for 
you  to  visit  in  the  house  of  the  sister  of  a  gentleman  who 
has  shown  you  such  marked  attention  as  Colonel  Leslie." 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  see  what  difference  that  would 
make,"  said  Minnie. 

Mamma  looked  troubled,  but  said,  gently, — 

"Where  did  you  first  meet  Colonel  Leslie,  Minnie?" 


136  BEECH  WO  OD. 

"At  his  sister's.  " 

"When?" 

"  Last  spring,  when  papa  and  I  were  in  the  city." 

"  Did  your  papa  know  him?" 

Minnie  shook  her  head. 

"Minnie,"  said  mamma,  after  a  little  pause,  "do  you 
know  anything  of  Colonel  Leslie's  character?" 

"I  know  that  he  is  a  gentleman,"  she  answered,  some- 
what excitedly. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  to  his  discredit?" 

"Very  few  people  but  sometimes  have  malicious  things 
said  of  them,"  she  answered. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  mamma,  "you  know  I  love  you 
too  well  to  say  or  do  anything  that  would  pain  you,  but  I 
am  afraid  you  are  mistaken  in  the  character  of  this  man. 
I  fear  he  is  not  above  reproach." 

"Yes,"  said  Minnie,  "I  knew  it  would  come  to  that! 
His  enemies  follow  him  with  these  reports  wherever  he 
goes;  but  I  will  not  believe  them, — never  !  never  !" 

"Darling,"  said  mamma,  "it  is  a  dangerous  position 
you  are  taking,  for  a  young  girl,  and  one  that  may  involve 
all  of  your  future  happiness.  If  Colonel  Leslie  is  really  the 
gentleman  you  believe  him,  I  am  the  last  person  to  throw 
an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  your  marriage  ;  for  I  infer  from 
what  you  say  that  he  desires  such."  Minnie  nodded  her 
head.  "  But  if  he  is  not  worthy  of  you,  it  would  be  one  of 
the  saddest  days  of  my  life  to  see  you  go  to  him.  Minnie," 
she  continued,  tenderly,  "you  know  I  love  you,  darling," 
putting  her  arm  caressingly  about  her,  "will  you  not  be 
influenced  by  Aunt  Fannie,  and  do  nothing  rashly,  but 
wait  a  few  months  at  least,  until  you  know  the  truth  of 
these  reports?" 

Minnie  seemed  much  affected,  weeping  quietly  as  she 
said, — 


BEECHWOOD.  !37 

"  I  know  you  have  always  been  my  friend,  Aunt  Fannie, 
and  I  do  not  desire  to  go  against  your  wishes ;  but  we  love 
each  other,  George  and  I,  and  everybody  talks  so  hard 
about  him,  that  it  only  makes  me  love  him  more,  because 
he  seems  so  much  to  need  my  love." 

Mamma  looked  incredulous  at  the  last  assertion,  but 
only  said, — 

"  Still,  dear,  if,  after  all,  you  should  discover  the  reports 
to  have  been  true,  when  it  was  too  late  to  benefit  you,  it 
would  wreck  your  happiness  for  life." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  :   he  is  always  good  to  me." 

'•'  Ah,  but  lovers  and  husbands  are  not  always  the  same, 
you  know.  Be  warned  in  time." 

"  I  will  not  promise  you,  Aunt  Fannie ;  but  I  will  think 
of  all  you  say,  and  try  and  profit  by  it,"  said  Minnie,  as, 
evidently  much  softened,  she  bade  us  good-night  and  left 
the  room. 

Mamma  said,  "We  will  not  discuss  this  longer  to-night, 
dear,"  and,  kissing  me  "good-night,"  left  me  to  my  own 
reflections,  which  were  not  of  the  brightest  character. 

May  29.  Mamma  talked  with  Minnie  again  yesterday, 
and  drew  from  her  the  reluctant  acknowledgment  that  the 
visit  to  his  sister's  was  all  of  Colonel  Leslie's  own  planning, 
so  that  he  could  visit  her  when  he  chose.  Mamma  pointed 
out  to  her  the  lack  of  principle  such  a  proceeding  involved, 
showed  her  Mr.  Lee's  letter,  and  told  her  all  she  asked  of 
her  was  to  wait  a  few  months  and  investigate  thoroughly 
these  reports  in  regard  to  his  character,  and  if,  after  careful 
investigation,  Minnie  found  him  to  be  the  honorable  man  . 
she  at  present  believed  him,  then  she,  mamma,  would  most 
willingly  consent  to  their  union  ;  but  if,  on  the  contrary, 
the  result  proved  him  to  be  the  base  character  he  was 
represented,  then  she  hoped  and  believed  that  Minnie's 
own  self-respect  would  cause  her  to  cast  him  from  her  for- 


138  BEECHWOOD. 

ever.  Minnie  at  first  tried  to  defend  him,  but  at  last  ad- 
mitted that  such  a  course  could  only  be  right ;  and  mamma 
hopes  that  she  will  give  him  no  further  encouragement. 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  see  him  with  my  eyes,  no  more  would 
be  necessary. 

Uncle  Ralph  left  for  the  West  yesterday  evening,  and  I 
have  felt  all  day  as  though  some  one  about  the  house  was 
dead.  He  spent  two  or  three  hours  here  in  the  morning, 
and  once,  when  we  chanced  for  a  moment  to  be  alone,  I 
felt  that  I  could  not  bear  to  let  him  go  away  without  making 
an  effort  to  reinstate  myself  in  his  favor,  and  said,  looking 
up  pleadingly  into  his  face  as  he  passed  near  me, — 

"Uncle  Ralph,  you  will  not  go  away  angry  with  me? 
Will  you  never,  never  love  me  again?" 

"  Angry  with  you?  Never  love  you  again?  Oh,  Nannie, 

if  you  only  knew "  And  then  he  paused  a  moment 

before  he  said, — softly  smoothing  my  hair  in  his  old  caress- 
ing way,  as  I  stood  before  him, — 

"  Have  I  indeed  been  so  stern  with  my  little  Nannie  ? 
No,  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  dear  child ;  but  my  heart  is 
full  of  care  lately  :  it  will  soon  be  all  right,  I  trust.  You 
must  not  let  it  trouble  you."  And,  some  one  coming  into 
the  room,  no  more  was  said ;  but  when  he  departed  he 
said  "good-by"  in  his  old,  tender  way,  and  I  believe  it 
made  it  ten  times  harder  for  me  to  let  him  go.  Dear 
Uncle  Ralph  !  what  is  it  that  troubles  him  so  ?  Can  it  be 
that  the  fact  of  my  engagement  recalls  to  him  vividly  his 
own  sad  past  ?  It  must  be  !  Oh,  if  I  only  could  comfort 
him. 

June  30.  We  have  all  been  again  to  Yale,  this  time  to  see 
Charlie  graduate ;  and  the  dear  fellow  acquitted  himself 
undoubtedly  with  honor.  He  took  the  highest  honors  in 
his  class,  and  is  a  great  favorite  with  every  one.  We 
reached  dear  old  Beechwood  again  last  night,  and  I  doubt 


BEECHWOOD. 


139 


if  four  walls  in  Christendom  inclosed  a  happier  or  merrier 
group  than  we.  Even  Minnie,  who  has  seemed  quite 
drooping  and  dispirited  of  late,  looked  bright  and  happy; 
and  I  am  sure  Ralph  did  all  in  his  power  to  make  her  so. 
Why  can  she  not  see  the  difference  between  Ralph,  who  I 
know  really  admires  her,  and  Colonel  Leslie?  Perhaps 
in  time  she  may.  Charlie  was  greatly  disappointed  at  not 
finding  Uncle  Ralph  at  home:  and  indeed  it  does  seem 
strange  and  lonely  without  him.  Mamma  had  a  letter  from 
him  a  day  or  two  after  he  reached  Uncle  Ben's,  and  since 
then  we  have  heard  nothing  more.  He  said  from  there  he 
should  go  still  farther  west,  and  that  we  must  not  feel  uneasy 
if  his  letters  were  not  very  frequent,  as  he  should  be  travel- 
ing most  of  the  time.  Nettie  Ray  has  been  in  New  York 
for  a  month  past.  She  returns  next  week,  and  Hal  accom- 
panies her  home.  More  than  six  months  since  we  last  met. 
How  my  heart  thrills  at  the  thought  that  he  will  so  soon  be 
here !  Gertie  and  Charlie  are  going  down  to  Aunt  Katie's 
in  a  few  days,  for  a  short  visit.  Now  that  Aunt  Katie  has 
two  little  darlings  of  her  own  to  care  for,  we  do  not  see  her 
nearly  so  often  as  we  used  to.  She  has  only  made  us  one 
visit  in  the  last  two  years, — that  was  when  Uncle  Ben  and 
Aunt  Emily  were  here  last  summer.  So  Charlie  and  Gertie 
are  going  down  for  a  little  while,  soon.  Well,  I  can  spare 
them  better  now  than  at  any  other  time,  since  Hal  is  coming. 
futy  9.  Gertie  and  Charlie  have  gone, — started  day 
before  yesterday, — and  last  night  Hal  came.  So  every  day 
brings  and  leaves  its  own  record.  Hal  is  little  changed, 
except  that  he  has  grown  heavier,  and  handsomer  than 
ever.  He  has  much  to  tell  me  of  New  York  life,  and  prophe- 
sies that  I  will  be  enchanted  some  day  with  it ;  but  I 
seriously  doubt  if  it  will  ever  be  so  pleasant  to  me  as  life  at 
dear  old  charming  Beechwood.  He  is  coming  over  early 
this  evening,  that  we  may  have  a  ride  before  night ;  and 


140 


BEECHWOOD. 


even  as  I  write  I  hear  the  quick  canter  of  his  horse's  feet 
up  the  wooded  avenue,  and,  looking  from  the  window,  catch 
now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  the  erect  figure  through  the 
openings  in  the  trees.  Joseph,  too,  is  leading  the  ponies 
up  to  the  door,  for  Ralph  has  promised  Minnie  a  canter 
upon  "Di,"  his  beautiful  little  filly,  and  I  hear  their  voices 
in  the  hall  below.  So  I  must  e'en  don  my  habit  in  haste, 
or  I  shall  be  called  a  laggard.  So,  till  we  return. 

July  1 6.  Truly  said  I,  every  day  has  its  own  record, 
and  some,  alas  !  it  were  better  had  never  been  made.  I 
am  so  bewildered  with  the  events  of  the  last  few  days  that 
I  scarcely  know  what  to  write,  or  how.  Gertie  and  I  have 
always  ha'd  a  great  habit  of  stealing  away  into  the  orchard 
when  we  wish  to  read  or  study,  in  pleasant  weather ;  for, 
besides  being  so  retired  and  quiet,  it  is  indeed  a  lovely  spot. 
A  beautiful  grassy  slope,  studded  thickly  with  fine  old  trees, 
through  which  the  sunlight  struggles,  falling  in  golden 
flecks  upon  the  greensward  beneath,  the  drowsy  hum  of 
the  bees  among  the  blossoms  or  fruit,  and  the  musical 
twittering  of  the  little  birds  in  the  branches  overhead,  all 
conspire  to  make  it  peculiarly  inviting  to  one  who  wishes 
to  study  or  meditate.  A  few  evenings  ago,  as  I  sat  there, 
thinking,  with  closed  book  upon  my  knee  (for  I  had  been 
reading  until  the  twilight  fell),  I  was  startled  by  a  man 
looking  over  the  hedge  near  which  I  sat.  It  is  a  very  un- 
usual thing  for  stragglers  to  find  their  way  to  this  quiet 
retreat,  but  I  was  greatly  startled,  as  it  was  growing  late, 
and  hastened  at  once  to  the  house.  All  evening  I  kept 
thinking  the  face  had  a  familiar  look,  in  the  hasty  glimpse 
I  had  had  of  it,  until  suddenly  it  flashed  across  me  that  it 
was  no  other  than  that  of  Colonel  Leslie.  How  stupid  I 
had  been  !  I  went  at  once  to  Minnie's  room,  ostensibly 
upon  an  errand,  but  really  to  see  if  she  was  out,  and 
found  her  quietly  looking  over  some  things  in  her  trunk. 


BEECHWOOD. 


141 


If  she  had  seen  him,  she  had  already  returned  ;  so  I  thought 
I  would  not  worry  mamma  with  my  suspicions. 

About  ten  o'clock  I  retired,  and,  after  tossing  about  rest- 
lessly for  some  time,  I  at  last  dropped  into  an  unquiet 
sleep,  in  which  I  saw  Minnie  struggling  with  a  great  black 
serpent  with  a  man's  head,  the  face  of  which  was  the  same 
that  had  looked  at  me  over  the  orchard  hedge.  I  awakened 
with  a  terrified  start,  and  presently  heard  the  hall  clock 
strike  one.  After  a  little  while,  for  I  could  not  sleep  again 
readily,  I  heard  some  one  moving  cautiously  in  Minnie's 
room,  and  thought,  "  Poor  girl,  she  is  as  restless  as  myself." 
Then  the  door  leading  from  her  room  into  the  hall  softly 
opened,  and  I  heard  her  step  cautiously  without.  "  She  must 
be  ill,"  I  thought,  and,  hastily  rising,  I  opened  my  door  to 
see  if  I  could  render  her  any  assistance.  The  full  moon  shone 
in  through  the  hall  window,  and  there,  directly  before  me, 
stood  Minnie,  fully  equipped  for  traveling,  even  to  hat  and 
gloves,  and  carrying  a  small  valise  in  her  hand.  My  first 
thought  was  that  she  was  sleep-walking;  but  my  second 
thought,  which  proved  to  be  the  correct  one,  almost  un- 
nerved me. 

"Minnie,  are  you  asleep?"  I  asked.  \ 

"No,  Nannie,  I  am  not  asleep,"  she  answered.  "Why 
do  you  watch  me?" 

"I  did  not,  Minnie.  I  heard  you  open  your  door, 
thought  you  were  ill,  and  came  to  offer  you  assistance." 

"I  am  not  ill.  Will  you  please  let  me  pass  you, 
Nannie?" — for  I  had  gently  laid  my  hand  upon  her  arm 
as  she  would  have  passed  me  in  the  hall. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Minnie?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me;  only  let  me  go." 

"  I  cannot,  dear  Minnie;  for  I  know  the  only  one  who 
would  be  base  enough  to  tempt  you  from  your  home  in 
this  way.  Indeed  you  must  not  go  to  him." 

13 


142 


BEECHWOOD. 


"I  must  and  will ;  you  shall  not  hinder  me.  He  only 
tempts  me  thus  because  he  dares  not  come  to  me  in  any 
other  way.  We  love  each  other,  and  nothing  shall  divide 
us." 

"  But,  Minnie,  do  not  steal  away  from  us  so.  Think  of 
the  disgrace.  If  you  will  marry  him,  do  it  honestly  in  the 
face  of  all  the  world.  Mamma  will  not  oppose  you,  if 
you  are  so  determined,  I  am  sure  ;  only  do  not  go  in  this 
dreadful  way."  And  I  held  tightly  to  her  hand. 

"Do  not  detain  me,  Nannie;  I  am  resolute.  Go  I 
will!" 

"Then  I  must  call  mamma.  Dear  Minnie,  hear  me! 
Only  do  not  go,  and  I  promise  you  I  will  plead  for  you 
with  mamma." 

"It  is  too  late.  I  have  promised,  and  my  life,  my 
happiness,  are  now  in  his  hands."  And  she  broke  from  my 
detaining  grasp  and  hurried  to  the  door  in  the  lower  hall. 

"Mamma,  mamma,"  I  cried,  rushing  hastily  into  her 
room,  "  come  quickly,  quickly,  or  Minnie  will  be  gone  !" 

Poor  mamma  sprang  from  her  bed  with  a  startled,  be- 
wildered look,  and,  catching  up  a  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
ran  with  me,  without  a  word,  into  the  hall.  She  said 
afterward  she  thought  I  meant  that  Minnie  was  dying. 
Alas  !  how  much  better  would  it  have  been  for  the  poor 
girl,  I  am  sure,  had  it  been  so  !  We  ran  down-stairs,  I  ex- 
plaining hurriedly,  as  we  went,  that  Minnie  was  going  away 
with  Colonel  Leslie,  and  there  we  found  the  door  open,  as 
she  had  left  it,  and  reached  it  just  in  time  to  hear  the 
rumble  of  departing  wheels. 

"Minnie!  Minnie  !"  mamma  called,  agonizingly ;  but 
soon  everything  was  silent,  and  we  knew  that  our  bright 
little  Minnie  had  indeed  fled  from  us  forever. 

When  the  first  moment  of  terrible  suspense  was  over, 
mamma  sank  down  upon  the  hall  sofa,  and,  burying  her 


BEECHWOOD. 


'43 


face  in  the  cushions,  sobbed  brokenly  for  several  minutes. 
I  was  terribly  alarmed,  for  never  in  my  life  had  I  seen  her 
yield  thus  before.  At  last  she  said,  piteously, — 

"Oh,  Nannie  !  to  think  how  I  have  loved  that  dear  child 
all  her  life,  and  now  she  has  consigned  herself  to  a  living 
death;  for  such  her  union  with  that  man  must  prove.  Oh, 
how  much  easier  it  would  have  been  to  have  laid  her,  in  her 
purity,  in  her  coffin  !" 

We  went  back  sadly  to  mamma's  room,  and  I  remained 
all  night  with  her,  for  there  was  no  more  sleep  for  either 
of  us,  and  I  told  her  then  all  I  knew  of  their  clandestine 
meetings,  and  also  of  seeing  the  face,  that  I  now  was  sure 
was  his,  over  the  orchard  hedge.  Mamma  expressed  great 
regret  that  I  had  bound  myself  by  a  promise  not  to  tell  her, 
from  the  first,  of  their  meetings,  as  she  might  have  taken 
means  to  prevent  so  sad  an  ending.  "  But,"  she  added, 
"regrets  are  now  unavailing;  only,  dear  child,  let  it  put 
you  on  your  guard  for  the  future,  never  to  bind  yourself 
by  any  promise  to  conceal  anything  from  your  mother." 

"  Indeed,  mamma,  I  never  will  again.  I  have  suf- 
fered enough  all  the  time  for  this  to  make  me  avoid  a  like 
fault  in  the  future.  I  would  have  given  anything  in  the 
world  a  dozen  times  to  have  been  able  to  tell  you,  without 
violating  my  promise  to  Minnie." 

"A  young  girl  may  always  suspect  a  thing  is  wrong  that 
she  desires  herself  to  keep,  or  is  requested  by  another  to 
keep,  from  her  mother;  (for  where  will  she  ever  find  so 
loving,  so  sympathetic,  so  true  a  friend  as  the  mother  who 
has  watched  over  her  from  her  infancy^/  Sometimes  her 
judgment  may  seem  a  little  stern  and  cold  to  the  young, 
impulsive  heart ;  but  a  child  can  never  go  far  astray  that 
trusts  to  the  teachings  of  its  mother,  especially  if  that 
mother  is  a  Christian." 

"I  know  you  are  right,  mamma;   but  I  am  sure  few 


144 


BEECHWOGD. 


daughters  have  such  a  precious  mother  to  go  to  as  have 
Gertie  and  I,"  I  whispered,  as  I  nestled  my  head  on  to  her 
pillow  close  beside  her  own.  She  drew  me  closely  to  her, 
kissing  me  fondly,  and  so  we  lay  waiting  for  the  morning. 

Mamma  sent  Joseph  for  Ralph  early  in  the  morning, 
and  the  poor  fellow  seemed  terribly  shocked  at  the  news 
of  Minnie's  flight.  He  wanted  to  start  immediately  in 
pursuit,  declaring  he  "would  as  soon  blow  the  villain's 
brains  out  as  kill  a  snake."  I  thought  of  my  dream,  but 
said  nothing.  Mamma  said  pursuit  would  be  useless,  since 
they  were  doubtless  already  married ;  and,  besides,  Ralph 
would  have  no  authority  to  compel  her  to  return,  should 
he  even  overtake  them,  which  was  doubtful.  All  we  could 
do  was  to  wait  till  we  knew  something  further.  Aunt 
Martha  was  shocked  and  indignant  at  first,  and  pitiful  and 
compassionate  afterward ;  while  Miss  Lane  was  so  sorry 
and  excited  over  it  as  to  be  laid  up  with  a  bad  nervous 
headache  half  the  day.  She  told  me  the  next  day  that  her 
only  sister  was  enticed  away  in  much  the  same  manner, 
and,  after  living  a  miserable  life  for  a  few  years,  died  of  a 
broken  heart,  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-three.  I  did  not 
wonder,  when  she  told  me  this,  that  Minnie's  flight  affected 
her  so  deeply. 

This  was  all  three  days  ago ;  and  to-day  mamma  had  a 
beautiful  little  pleading  letter  from  Minnie,  saying  how 
sorry  she  was  to  have  done  anything  contrary  to  her  wishes, 
but  if  she  (mamma)  only  knew  how  happy  she  was,  and 
what  a  good,  loving  husband  she  had  found,  she  was  sure 
she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  blame  her. 

"  Curse  him  !"  said  Ralph,  bitterly,  between  his  teeth; 
and  Aunt  Martha  sighed,  and  shook  her  old  head  omin- 
ously, as  she  muttered,—  ^  J^ 

"  Yes,  yes;  (a  new  broom  always  sweeps  clean  !jj 

We  were  all  too  sad  to  laugh,  as  indeed  Aunt  Martha 


BEECHWOOD. 


'45 


would  .have  been  greatly  shocked  to  have  had  us  do;  and 
mamma,  as  usual,  said,  mildly, — 

"It  is  very  sad;  but  we  can  only  hope  for  the  best,  and, 
now  that  she  has  really  gone,  try  to  speak  and  think  as  little 
as  possible  about  it."  But  she  sighed  heavily  as  she  spoke ; 
and  I  know  that  she  will  not  soon  forget  the  dear  girl  whose 
presence  for  so  brief  a  while  brightened  our  home.  Ralph 
stalked  moodily  from  the  room,  and  we  soon  saw  him  fly- 
ing away  on  "  Di"  toward  the  village,  where  he  will  strive 
to  drive  away  his  regrets  in  the  musty  old  tomes  in  Uncle 
Ralph's  office.  We  have  all  gone  back  to  our  daily  duties, 
and  so  Minnie  has  slipped  out  of  our  quiet  life.  May  God 
go  with  her ! 

July  20.  Mamma  has  answered  Minnie's  letter  as  only 
she  can  write,  combining  regrets,  forgiveness,  and  counsel 
for  the  future,  all  in  one,  and  charging  her  never  to  forget, 
in  trouble,  that  warm  hearts  and  welcoming  hands  would 
always  be  ready  to  receive  her  at  Beechwood. 

To  her  husband  she  sent  no  word,  not  even  alluding  to 
him  in  the  letter.  She  also  forwarded  the  trunks  which 
Minnie  had  left  all  ready  packed.  We  all  sent  our  love, — 
all  but  Ralph, — but  nothing  more. 

Mamma  also  wrote  to  Mrs.  Norris  a  plain  statement  of 
the  facts,  expressing  her  regret  that  such  an  occurrence 
should  have  happened  beneath  her  roof.  Mamma  blames 
herself  much, — which  I  think  is  not  right ;  for  who  would 
have  dreamed  of  Minnie  Norris  ever  taking  such  a  des- 
perate step  ?  If  any  one  is  to  blame,  it  is  myself,  for  con- 
cealing, or  rather  consenting  to  conceal,  his  clandestine 
visits  from  mamma. 

Hal  said,  "Well,  darling,  I  never  should  have  put  your 
love  to  such  a  test :  it  is  all  wrong.  I  should  have  waited 
patiently,  relying  upon  your  faith  and  love,  until  you  were 
of  age  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  then  I  should  openly 

13* 


I46  BEECHWOOD. 

have  claimed  you  before  all  the  world,  and  no  man  would 
have  dared  to  come  between  us."  And  if  he  had  looked 
as  he  did  when  he  made  the  assertion,  I  do  not  believe 
there  would  ! 

To-morrow  we  expect  Gertie  and  Charlie  to  return ;  and 
I  am  very  glad,  for  more  than  one  reason.  I  think  Ralph 
needs  Charlie,  he  looks  so  dispirited  and  woe-begone,  for 
him,  since  Minnie's  flight.  Even  Nettie,  who  has  always 
been  a  great  favorite  with  him,  fails  to  restore  him  to  his 
usual  spirits.  I  do  hope  his  heart  is  not  seriously  involved, 
for  I  so  long  to  have  him  prefer  Nettie  above  all  others. 
She  is  so  very  lovable,  and  has  developed  into  such  a 
charming  woman ;  you  know  she  is  over  a  year  older  than 
I,  and  I  will  be  eighteen  next  May.  How  rapidly  the 
years  slip  by !  I  am  thinking,  if  time  flies  as  swiftly  with 
Hal  as  it  does  with  me,  he  will  not  find  the  two  years  of 
our  probation  so  long,  after  all.  It  seems  but  yesterday 
since  we  were  all  children  together,  hunting  for  buttercups 
and  chasing  butterflies  in  the  meadows,  and  now  we  stan4 
upon  the  threshold  of  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  look 
back,  perhaps  a  little  longingly,  to  the  sunny  days  of  our 
childhood.  Bright  and  beautiful  they  truly  were,  but, — 

"  Like  dew  on  the  mountain,  or  foam  on  the  river, 
They  sparkled  a  moment,  then  vanish'd  forever." 

Sept.  i.  The  summer  has  passed  like  a  beautiful  dream. 
Hal  has  returned  to  New  York,  and  Charlie  has  gone  with 
him  to  the  city  to  pursue  his  medical  studies,  for  he  too 
means  to  become  a  physician ;  it  has  always  been  the  desire 
of  his  heart.  He  says  a  man  who  wishes  to  do  good  has 
a  broader  field  open  to  him  in  that  capacity  than  in  any 
other,  not  even  excepting  the  ministry.  For  while  he  min- 
isters to  the  physical  wants  of  the  afflicted,  he  can  also  dis- 
cern more  clearly  their  spiritual  needs;  for  never  is  human 
frailty  so  discernible  as  when  the  strong  frame  is  prostrated 


BEECHWOOD. 


147 


by  suffering,  and  never  is  the  soul  so  open  to  the  influence 
of  heavenly  teaching  as  when  through  bodily  affliction  it 
is  brought  to  look  upon  death  as  an  inevitable  something 
that  sooner  or  later  we  all  must  meet.  Charlie,  with  his 
noble  soul,  lofty  aspirations,  and  pure  and  tender  heart, 
will,  I  am  sure,  succeed  well  in  the  profession^  he  has 
chosen.  He  is  just  the  man  to  win  the  love  and  respect  of 
every  one,  and  I  am  sure  he  will.  He  will  make  a  quiet, 
reserved,  and  dignified  man,  but  one  that  no  person  can 
fail  to  love  and  honor  for  his  own  intrinsic  worth. 

The  summer  has  indeed  been  full  of  tranquil  happiness. 
I  have  written  but  little  in  my  diary  since  Hal  has  been 
here,  for  we  have  been  much  together,  and  it  would  seem 
like  sacrilege  to  write,  even  upon  your  pure  pages,  dear 
old  book,  the  record  of  our  interviews.  Then  our  hearts 
are  laid  bare  to  one  another,  and  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
the  soul  find  utterance  meant  but  for  one  ear  alone,  save 
God's.  Enough  that  we  have  been  together,  have  been 
*  happy,  and  that  the  future  for  us  is  full  of  promise.  And 
yet,  standing  with  him  in  the  starlight  this  evening,  waiting 
for  his  last  adieus,  a  sad  feeling  stole  over  me, — a  shadowy 
fear, — a  presentiment  that  I  never  should  stand  thus  with 
him  in  the  soft  starlight  again.  I  seemed  to  see  between  us 
a  misty  form  with  outstretched  hands  trying  to  divide  us; 
and  even  while  his  tender  words  of  adieu  were  yet  sound- 
ing in  my  ears,  I  heard  above  them  all  the  words  of  solemn 
warning,  "  You  hold  but  a  phantom  of  love  to  your  heart." 
Whence  the  feeling  came,  or  wherefore,  I  cannot  tell;  but 
I  thrust  it  resolutely  from  me;  for  what  are  these  presenti- 
ments but  the  struggles  of  the  soul,  overburdened  with  some 
present  sadness,  to  penetrate  the  misty  veil  that  hides  from 
us  the  future?  Well  for  us  that  we  cannot  look  beyond. 
How  could  we  ever  enjoy  the  present,  however  bright  and 
joyous  it  might  be,  with  the  certain  knowledge  that  a  dark 


I48  BEECHWOOD. 

and  troubled  future  lay  before  us  ?  God  indeed  is  all-wise 
and  all-merciful,  I  know  this ;  yet 

I  cannot  still  the  beating 

Of  my  restless,  anxious  heart ; 
I  cannot  lay  the  phantoms 

That  into  being  start ; 
They  haunt  me  in  my  slumbers, 

They  stand  beside  my  chair, 
-Hid  whisper,  ever  whisper, — 

Trust  not  Love's  promise  fair. 

This  is  simply  folly.  I  will  no  more  of  it.  Never  was 
lovers'  future  brighter  before  them  than  is  ours.  It  is  sinful 
to  yield  to  the  forebodings  that  the  prospect  of  a  somewhat 
protracted  absence  would,  not  unnaturally,  engender.  To- 
morrow's sunshine  will  bring  brighter,  happier  thoughts,  I 
am  sure  :  so  I  will  strive,  in  slumber,  to  woo  them  to  me  now. 

Sept.  20.  I  went  yesterday  with  mamma  to  pay  our 
weekly  visit  to  Granny  Weir,  and  found  the  poor  old 
woman  very  weak  indeed.  The  end  is  evidently  rapidly 
drawing  near.  She  seems  conscious  of  the  fact,  and  talks 
calmly  and  cheerfully  of  her  approaching  death.  She  said 
her  only  care  was  for  her  little  granddaughter  Lizzie,  who 
has  been  nurse  and  companion  for  her  for  the  last  four 
years,  although  she  is  now  but  fifteen  years  old.  "Her 
parents  are  both  dead,"  she  said,  "and  when  poor  old 
granny  is  gone  she  will  be  entirely  friendless  and  home- 
less." Mamma  assured  her  that  Lizzie  should  not  suffer, 
promising  to  take  her  to  our  own  home  until  a  good  one 
could  be  permanently  provided  for  her.  The  poor  old  soul 
seemed  deeply  moved,  and  very  grateful  to  mamma  for  her 
kindness.  The  tears  rolled  over  her  furrowed  cheeks,  as 
she  said,  "God  will  repay  you,  dear  lady,  for  your  con- 
stant kindness  to  the  poor  and  destitute.  Now  that  I  know 
my  poor  girl  will  be  kindly  cared  for,  I  can  die  in  peace." 

Mamma  said,  coming  home,  that  she  would  write  to 


BEECHWOOD. 


149 


Aunt  Katie  at  once  about  Lizzie,  for  she  was  sure  she 
would  just  suit  her  for  the  children  ;  and  I  think  so  too.  I 
told  mamma,  as  granny  was  so  low,  I  would  run  over  again 
this  evening  and  see  how.  she  was,  and  carry  her  a  little 
chicken-broth.  So,  while  Milly  was  preparing  it,  I  have 
written  this  in  my  diary,  and  now  I  must  run  before  it  is 
too  late,  for  the  days  are  growing  shorter  again. 

Oct.  12.  When  I  closed  my  last  entry,  I  put  on  my  hat, 
and,  taking  the  bowl  of  broth  from  Milly,  went  over  the 
hill  to  granny's  little  cottage.  But  before  I  entered  the 
house  I  knew  that  all  was  over.  The  windows  were  open, 
and  a  pile  of  bedclothes  and  pillows  from  granny's  bed 
lay  in  the  yard,  and  I  saw  several  of  the  neighbor-women 
moving  busily  and  noiselessly  about.  As  I  entered  the 
house,  they  all  greeted  me  respectfully,  and  one  of  the 
women  said,  softly,  as  she  handed  me  a  chair, — 

"  Poor  old  soul,  she's  gone  at  last !" 

"When  did  she  die?"  I  asked. 

"About  two  hours  ago." 

I  went  to  the  bed,  upon  which  she  was  laid  out  decently 
and  tidily,  and  looked  upon  the  poor  shrunken  form  and 
pinched  features,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  feel  no 
sorrow. 

"She  died  calmly  and  peacefully,"  said  one;  and  I 
could  not  but  think,  "What  a  blessed  exchange  from  her 
sleepless  nights  and  suffering  days,  to  this  quiet,  dreamless 
rest  from  which  there  is  no  waking !"  She  looked  so  calm 
and  restful,  that  I  thought  in  my  heart,  "It  is  well  with 
her,"  as  I  turned  from  the  bed  and  asked  for  Lizzie. 

"She  is  in  the  inner  room,"  was  answered;  "and 
the  poor  lass  is  dreadfully  broken  up  over  her  granny's 
death." 

I  entered  the  little  room  that  served  as  both  bedroom 
and  kitchen,  and  found  the  little  maid  crouching  clown 


'5° 


BEECHWOOD. 


beside  a  low  fire,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro  and  moaning 
piteously. 

"Lizzie,"  I  said,  laying  my  hand  upon  her  head,  "do 
you  remember  me?" 

She  stopped  her  moaning  for  an  instant,  and,  looking  up 
at  me,  answered, — 

"Yes,  Miss  Nannie;  and  granny  said  to  tell  you — oh, 
poor  granny  !"  And  she  fell  to  sobbing  again  more  pite- 
ously than  ever. 

"Listen  to  me  a  little,  Lizzie,"  I  said,  kindly,  stooping 
down  beside  her.  "  We  all  know  it  is  very  sad  for  you  to 
lose  your  dear  old  granny  so ;  but  have  you  forgotten  how 
dreadfully  she  suffered  when  she  was  alive?" 

"Oh,  no,  miss,  nor  ever  shall." 

"  Would  you  be  glad  to  see  her  suffer  so  again  ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  Miss  Nannie;  but  who  will  love  poor 
Lizzie  now  that  granny  is  gone?" 

"Every  one  will  love  you,  Lizzie,  if  you  are  good,"  I 
answered ;  thinking  how,  with  rich  and  poor,  high  and 
low  alike,  "love,  love,"  is  the  yearning  cry  of  every 
heart,  j  "Then,  too,"  I  continued,  "God  will  love  you 
and  care  for  you  always.  See  how  he  has  already  raised 
up  for  you  a  friend,  in  my  mother,  who  will  see  that  you 
have  in  future  everything  needful  for  you.  If  you  are  a 
good  girl,  as  I  am  sure  you  already  are,  you  will  be  very 
happy ;  for  you  are  to  have  the  kindest  of  mistresses,  and 
the  prettiest  of  little  children  of  whom  to  take  care." 

I  saw  that  I  had  gained  her  attention,  for  she  raised  her 
head  and  turned  her  little  pinched  face,  swollen  with  much 
weeping,  toward  me ;  so  I  went  on,  and  told  her  gently  of 
Aunt  Katie  and  her  beautiful  home  and  her  two  lovely 
children,  until,  in  a  measure,  I  had  diverted  her  mind  from 
its  heavy  sorrow.  I  saw  that  she  looked  very  weary,  and 
knew  she  needed  food. 


BEECHWOOD.  !5I 

"Lizzie,  have  you  eaten  anything  to-day?"  I  asked. 

"No,  miss;  how  could  I,  when  granny  was "  And 

again  the  tears  choked  her  utterance,  though  this  time  she 
tried  bravely  to  suppress  them. 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know,"  I  answered,  vexed  at  myself  for 
my  thoughtless  recurrence  to  her  sorrow  ;  "  but  I  want  you 
to  eat  a  little  now  for  my  sake,  and  then  I  have  something 
more  to  say  to  you." 

I  went  to  the  pump  and  brought  her  a  basin  of  water  in 
which  to  bathe  her  face,  and  reached  her  the  towel, 
saying, — 

"  Now  bathe  your  face  and  brush  your  hair,  like  a  good 
girl,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  something  more  of  your  new 
home." 

She  obeyed  me  mechanically;  more  because  she  was 
used  to  doing  as  she  was  bidden  than  for  any  other  reason. 
Then  I  crumbled  some  bread  into  the  broth  I  had  brought 
from  home,  set  it  upon  the  table,  and  told  her  she  must 
eat  it.  It  seemed  impossible  for  her  to  swallow  the  first 
few  mouthfuls  ;  and  at  last  she  said,  completely  breaking 
down  again, — 

"  Poor  old  granny  !  she  will  never  eat  no  more  !" 

"No,  Lizzie;  she  is  now  where  she  will  never  need  to 
eat,  and  where,  too,  she  will  never  suffer  again.  And  I 
am  sure  it  will  add  greatly  to  her  happiness  to  see  that  you 
bear  up  bravely  under  your  sorrow." 

"  Do  you  think  she  can  see  me  now,  miss?"  she  asked, 
eagerly. 

"I  have  little  doubt  of  it,  Lizzie." 

"Then  I  will  do  all  you  wish  ;  for  her  last  words  to  me 
were  to  mind  all  that  you  and  Mrs.  Cleve  told  me." 

"That  I  am  sure  you  will  do,  Lizzie;  and  now  try  and 
eat  your  broth."  And  I  again  drew  her  mind  away  to  her 
future  at  Aunt  Katie's,  till  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 


1 5  2  BEECHWOOD. 

her  finish  the  last  mouthful  ;  then  I  said,  "  Now  will  you 
go  home  with  me,  Lizzie?" 

"  Please,  miss,  an'  I  had  rather  wait  here  till  Sunday  is 
gone,"  she  said  (it  was  now  Friday);  "it  would  break 
my  heart  entirely  to  leave  her  to-night." 

So  I  said  no  more,  knowing  the  neighbors  would  be  with 
her.  Mamma  sent  Joseph  over  to  do  all  that  was  neces- 
sary for  the  funeral,  and  on  Sunday  mamma  and  Gertie 
drove  over  with  Joseph,  and  after  the  funeral  brought  Lizzie 
home  with  them.  The  poor  child  was  quite  worn  out  with 
her  constant  weeping,  but  after  a  few  days  brightened  up 
wonderfully,  and  when  she  yesterday  started  to  Aunt 
Katie's,  under  Joseph's  care,  she  looked  quite  bright  and 
cheerful,  and  I  doubt  not  her  future  will  be  much  happier 
than  her  past. 

Oct.  24.  Ralph  came  out  this  morning  with  a  long 
letter  he  had  received  from  Uncle  Ralph.  He  was  some 
place  in  Minnesota  when  he  wrote,  and  gave  some  very 
beautiful  descriptions  of  the  fine  country  over  which  he  has 
traveled.  He  says  he  has  no  idea  when  he  will  return,  as 
he  has  promised  Cousin  Ned  to  take  a  trip  down  the  Mis- 
sissippi River  with  him  when  he  returns  to  St.  Louis  from 
the  Northwest,  and  they  will  probably  make  the  tour  of  the 
Southern  States  before  they  return.  He  says  his  health  is 
good,  and  that  he  hopes  to  return  in  good  condition  for 
business,  some  time  in  the  spring.  It  seems  an  age  since 
he  went  away  ;  and  I  am  half  vexed  to  think  he  can  stay 
away  from  Beechwood  so  long  with  apparently  so  few 
regrets.  The  beautiful  autumn  is  again  here,  and  wood 
and  field  and  stream  seem  to  have  borrowed  new  beauties 
from  her  ever-changing  splendor.  Oh,  what  a  book  is 
nature  for  those  whose  minds  are  in  unison  with  her  in 
her  varying  moods,  and  who  can  trace  in  the  tender  blade 
of  spring,  or  the  fluttering  frost-hued  leaf  of  autumn, 


BEECHWOOD. 


'53 


the  similitude  to  life,  from  its  first  tender  budding  in  infancy, 
to  its  blighting  and  decay  as  it  approaches  the  winter  of 
death.  Nettie  and  I  never  weary  of  wandering  together 
through  the  "pathless  woods,"  and  often  sit  together  for 
hours  beneath  some  old  tree,  quietly  knitting, — for  we  are 
again  preparing  for  our  annual  Christmas-tree, — and  often 
without  a  word  being  spoken  between  us,  communing 
silently  one  with  another  and  with  nature.  Nettie  and  I 
have  the  somewhat  rare  faculty  of  enjoying  each  other's 
society  without  talking.  She  often  says, — 

"  How  pleasant  it  is,  Nannie,  that  we  can  sit  together 
and  not  feel  that  we  are  necessitated  to  try  to  entertain  each 
other  !  I  often  feel,  after  we  have  thus  sat  silently  for  some 
time,  that  we  have  held  rare  and  pleasant  converse,  although 
perhaps  not  over  half  a  dozen  sentences  have  been  ex- 
changed." 

And  so  it  is :  our  souls  commune,  although  our  lips  are 
silent.  How  much  more  friends  would  enjoy  each  other's 
society,  if  they  would  only  converse  when  they  really 
have  something  to  say,  instead  of  feeling  that  they  must 
make  an  effort  to  talk,  when  the  soul  is  longing  for  a 
communion  that  words  have  no  power  to  express.  '(J^61"" 
feet  love  casteth  out  feari"  is  a  truthful  saying,  and  in 
nothing  do  we  realize  it  more  perfectly  than  in  the  fact 
that  those  who  understand  and  love  us  best  are  the  ones  in 
whose  presence  we  feel  a  perfect  freedom  from  restraint 
and  act  in  all  things  as  the  heart  and  conscience  dictate. 
A  valued  friend  once  said  to  me,  in  a  somewhat  rare 
burst  of  confidence,  "Dear  Nannie, (whatever  you  do,  act 
always  in  perfect  simplicity  and  honest  faith  with  those 
you  lovej  Never  allow  a  false  pride  to  come  between 
your  heart  and  those  who  are  entitled  to  your  confidence." 
And  then  she  told  me  how,  years  before, — for  she  was  much 
older  than  myself,  and  had  been  married  several  years, — she 

14 


154 


BEECHWOOD. 


had  loved  and  been  beloved  by  one  in  every  way  her  equal ; 
how  she  had  looked  forward  with  joy  to  the  beautiful  future 
they  were  to  spend  together,  until,  in  an  unfortunate  hour, 
a  slight  misunderstanding,  a  very  trifle,  arose  between  them, 
which  she  was  too  proud  to  explain  away,  although  she 
could  have  done  so  by  a  single  word.  And  the  shadow 
grew,  and  deepened,  until  it  became  an  impenetrable  cloud 
between  them,  and  they  parted ;  parted,  bearing  away 
in  their  hearts  the  remembrance  of  a  beautiful  dream, 
whose  non-fulfillment  had  shadowed  all  their  future  and  in 
a  great  measure  left  for  both  but  the  wreck  of  earthly 
happiness. 

"It  is  true,"  she  concluded,  "I  have  a  kind  husband, 
who  is  worthy  of  all  love,  and  whom  I  sincerely  respect  and 
honor ;  but  even  now,  sleeping  in  his  arms,  I  dream  of  the 
past,  and  awaken  with  quivering  heart-strings  at  the  remem- 
brance of  what  I  have  lost.  All,  all,  because  of  a  false 
pride,  that  veiled  and  screened  my  heart  from  the  loving 
eyes  that  should  have  read  its  every  emotion. 

"And  for  the  same  reason,  I  am  convinced,  marriages 
often  prove  unhappy  ones,  when  they  are  really  between 
congenial  hearts.  A  little  misunderstanding  arises,  which 
one  or  the  other  could  easily  explain  away ;  but  they  think, 
'  Well,  if  he  loved  me,'  or,  '  if  she  cared  for  me,  it  would 
be  understood  without  an  explanation.'  And  so  the  first 
wrong  feeling  is  cherished,  and  the  first  cold  word  is  spoken, 
whose  wounds  no  after-kindness  can  entirely  obliterate. 
My  earnest  counsel  to  every  young  couple  just  beginning  life 
would  always  be, Q  Guard  carefully  against  the  first  unkind 
word  or  thought,  for  therein  lies  the  secret  of  all  domestic 
happiness.  "J)  *s 

And  I  am  sure  she  is  right.  But,  knowing  the  right  way 
perfectly,  how  difficult  it  is  for  us  poor  erring  mortals 
always  to  walk  therein  ! 


BEECHWOOD.  !55 

Nov.  12.  One  year  ago  to-day  since  I  first  laid  my 
hand  in  Hal's  and  promised  that  our  futures  should  be 
inseparable.  How  quickly  it  has  sped !  and  how  full  of 
brightness  it  has  been  !  I  have  just  concluded  a  long  letter 
to  him,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  soon  receive  one  from  him, 
written  likewise  to-day. 

I  had  another  long,  dear  letter  from  Charlie  this  morn- 
ing. He  says  life  in  New  York  is  pleasant  for  a  time,  but 
he  would  gladly  exchange  it  for  the  bright  fields  and  wooded 
hills  of  Beechwood.  He  has  already  made  up  his  mind  to 
settle  in  our  village,  where  I  am  sure  he  will  find  success, 
when  through  with  his  studies.  Ralph,  on  the  contrary, 
says  that  when  he  has  once  become,  in  a  manner,  master 
of  his  profession,  he  is  going  to  some  city  to  live,  though 
perhaps  not  so  far  from  home  as  New  York.  He  likes  the 
crowd,  the  noise,  the  life,  of  a  busy  street  :(sp  do  not  LJU 

Charlie  says  he  met  with  an  old  friend  of  mine  lately 
who  has  just  returned  from  a  three  years'  tour  upon  the 
continent, — a  Miss  Sallie  Reve,  whom  I  remember  as  a 
little,  pale-faced,  black-eyed  girl,  whom  I  once  loved  very 
dearly,  some  six  or  eight  years  ago.  I  met  her  the  winter 
I  spent  with  Grandma  Clifford  before  her  death.  Sallie's 
father  was  a  neighbor  of  Grandfather  Clifford's;  and,  she 
being  near  my  own  age,  about  a  year  or  so  older,  I  believe, 
we  soon  became  fast  friends.  How  I  would  love  to  see  her 
again  !  Charlie  seems  much  struck  with  her ;  says  she  is 
one  of  the  most  fascinating  ladies  he  has  ever  met ;  that 
she  had  many  questions  to  ask  about  me,  and  expressed  a 
very  warm  desire  to  see  me  again.  How  strange  it  seems 
to  think  of  her,  little  Sallie  Reve,  as  a  young  lady!  She 
cannot  be  very  beautiful, — although  Charlie  describes  her  as 
very  fascinating, — for  she  was  remarkably  plain  as  a  child. 
I  must  get  mamma's  permission  to  invite  her,  some  time,  to 
Beechwood,  for  her  parents  were  very  kind  to  me  the  winter 


156  BEECHWOOD. 

I  was  at  grandma's.  But  my  long  letter  to  Hal  has  taxed 
my  time  and  strength  so  heavily  to-night  that  my  entry  in 
my  diary  must  of  necessity  be  brief. 

Nov.  1 8.  Just  as  I  have  predicted,  I  have  a  long,  pre- 
cious letter  from  Hal,  written  upon  the  anniversary  of  our 
betrothal.  It  is  full  of  just  such  loving  words  and  tender 
reminiscences  as  are  most  likely  to  touch  a  foolish  little 
heart  like  mine :  so  of  course  it  has  been  read  over  again 
and  again,  and  awakened  very  happy  memories  of  the  past 
and  bright  anticipations  for  the  future.  (I  often  wonder  if 
anybody  else  is  quite  as  foolish  about  the  letters  of  those 
they  love  as  I  am.)t'I  read  them  over  and  over  again,  and 
at  every  reading  find  something  new  and  precious  that  I 
had  not  particularly  noticed  before ;  and — shall  I  say  it  ? — I 
often  even  sleep  with  Hal's  beneath  my  pillow,  it  seems  so 
suggestive  of  pleasant  dreams. 

Hal  writes  me  that  he  also  has  met  Sallie  Reve,  and 
thinks  her  very  charming.  He  says  she  quite  won  his  heart 
by  her  loving  remembrance  of  myself,  never  tiring  of  ask- 
ing questions  about  me  and  telling  over  incidents  of  our 
past.  He  says  she  has  quite  set  her  heart  upon  my  spend- 
ing the  approaching  holidays  with  her  in  New  York  ;  says 
she  will  write  to  me  herself  about  it,  and  will  take  no 
denial.  I  do  not  yet  know  how  that  would  be,  whether  I 
should  enjoy  spending  the  holidays  away  from  home  or 
not,  although  Hal  says,  "I  think  you  would  enjoy  a  trip 
to  the  city,  and  nothing  would  please  me  better  than  to 
have  you  make  the  desired  visit.  If  you  conclude  to  come, 
of  course  my  holidays  will  be  spent  here  also ;  but  if  you 
decide  to  remain  at  Beechwood,  you  may  confidently  ex- 
pect me  on  the  24th  of  December.  It  would  be  a  cheer- 
less Christmas  to  me  spent  away  from  my  darling." 

Nov.  30.  I  several  days  ago  received  the  expected  letter 
from  dear  little  Sallie,  for  so  I  must  still  remember  her, 


BEECHWOOD. 


157 


inclosing  also  a  charming  little  note  to  mamma,  in  which 
she  begged  so  prettily  for  the  pleasure  of  my  own  and 
Gertie's  company  for  the  holidays,  that  mamma's  consent 
was  at  once  given,  provided  Ralph  would  accompany  us  to 
the  city.  Her  letter  to  me  was  full  of  tender  memories  of 
the  olden  times,  and  very  interesting  and  pleasant.  She 
told  me  I  must  not  expect  to  find  her  much  changed ;  that 
she  was  the  same  plain  little  Sallie  that  she  used  to  be, 
though  perhaps  not  quite  so  small  in  stature  as  at  that 
time.  She  spoke  of  our  visit  as  though  everything  was 
settled,  and  will  not  listen,  she  says,  to  any  excuse  to  the 
contrary.  She  adds  that  "  Dr.  Ray"  (how  strange  it  looks 
so  written  !)  is  quite  anxious  to  remain  in  New  York  during 
the  holidays,  as  it  will  of  course  be  very  gay,  but  cannot 
be  induced  to  do  so  unless  we  all,  Nettie  included  (to 
whom  she  has  already  written,  through  Hal),  can  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  come  to  New  York  instead.  Nettie  has 
already  consented  to  go  if  we  do,  and  Ralph  is  very  willing 
to  accompany  us ;  but  somehow  I  cannot  quite  gain  the 
consent  of  my  heart  to  go.  I  feel  a  strange  reluctance  about 
leaving  home  at  this  time ;  perhaps  it  is  because  I  do  not 
fancy  leaving  mamma  all  alone  at  the  holidays.  To  be  sure, 
Aunt  Martha  and  Miss  Lane  will  be  here,  but  that  is  not  like 
her  children.  I  wish  I  knew  whether  Hal  really  desires  to 
remain  in  the  city  or  not :  that  would  of  course  decide  me. 
Dec.  2.  Well,  it  is  decided  that  we  are  to  go.  I  was 
the  only  one  who  seemed  at  all  averse  to  the  plan,  and,  as 
I  could  give  no  good  reason,  not  even  to  myself,  for  my 
strange  reluctance,  I  was  of  course  overruled ;  and  so  we 
are  to  go.  Mamma  herself  desired  it,  saying  she  thought 
a  little  insight  into  city  life  would  be  an  advantage  both 
to  Gertie  and  myself.  We  are  to  go  about  the  i5th,  and 
remain  until  after  New  Year,  when  Charlie  is  to  return 
with  us  for  his  visit  to  mamma.  Hal,  I  suppose,  will  not 

14* 


158  BEECHWOOD. 

come  again  before  next"  summer ;  and  I  should  not  wonder 
if  that  thought  has  something  to  do  with  my  desire  not  to 
go.  Seeing  him  at  New  York  will  not  be  like  seeing  him 
at  Beechwood.  But  I  must  not  be  selfish :  it  will  doubtless 
all  be  for  the  best. 

It  seems  strange  that  we  cannot  hear  what  has  become  of 
Minnie.  Only  once  have  we  heard  from  her  since  her  first 
letter  to  mamma  after  her  flight.  Hal  once  saw  her  riding 
in  a  carriage  with  Colonel  Leslie,  down  Broadway.  She 
bowed  to  him  as  they  passed,  and  that  was  all.  Mamma 
thinks  her  husband  will  not  permit  her  to  write  to  us ;  but 
it  seems  hard  that  he  should  deny  her  this  pleasure.  We 
cannot  even  hear  whether  she  is  in  the  city  or  not,  though 
Charlie  has  tried  hard  to  find  out  without  calling  at  Mrs. 
May's  to  inquire.  Poor  Minnie  !  I  fear  her  lot  is  not  all 
sunshine.  But  I  hear  Gertie  calling  to  me,  doubtless  to 
help  her  decide  some  important  trifle  (if  I  may  use  such  a 
contrariety  of  terms)  in  regard  to  our  wardrobes :  so,  old 
book,  I'  lay  you  aside  with  regret,  and  obey. 

Jan.  20.  Our  visit  is  made,  and  we  are  once  again  at 
dear  old  Beechwood,  never  so  dear  as  after  temporary  ab- 
sence. I  have  delayed  writing  in  my  diary  since  my  return 
(we  reached  home  on  the  pth)  simply  because  I  scarcely  know 
how  to  record  the  events  of  my  visit,  they  were  so  varied 
and  dissimilar.  It  was,  I  suppose,  a  very  pleasant  visit, — 
or,  at  least,  we  ought  to  regard  it  as  such ;  but,  somehow 
or  other,  there  is  an  unsatisfied  longing  at  my  heart  that 
tells  me  it  was  not,  with  me  at  least,  a  perfect  success. 
There  were  parties  and  concerts  without  end,  and  dinner- 
parties, suppers,  and  social  days  and  evenings  at  home ;  to 
say  nothing  of  the  art-galleries  and  thousand  and  one 
beautiful  things  always  to  be  seen  in  New  York.  Hal  and 
Charlie  met  us  at  the  depot,  where  also  Judge  Reve's  car- 
riage was  in  waiting  to  convey  us  to  the  house.  Charlie 


BEECHWOOD.  !59 

* 

took  possession  of  Ralph,  and  spirited  him  away,  prom- 
ising that  they  would  shortly  join  us  for  dinner,  to  which 
the  gentlemen  had  been  kindly  invited  by  Mrs.  Reve, 
while  Hal  rode  with  us  to  the  house,  where  he  lingered  but 
a  moment  before  he  returned  to  Ralph  and  Charlie. 

We  found  Sallie  ready  with  a  warm  welcome  at  the  door, 
and  she  bore  us  away  to  the  pleasant  rooms  we  were  to 
occupy  during  our  visit,  telling  us  we  had  barely  time  to 
dress  for  dinner,  as  it  was  then  nearly  five  o'clock.  At 
dinner  we  were  presented  to  Sallie's  papa  and  mamma,  who 
gave  us  all  a  very  cordial  welcome,  which  we  could  not 
but  see  was  sincere.  A  very  merry  party  we  formed  at 
table,  and  Sallie  was  the  merriest  of  us  all.  You  could  not 
call  her  pretty ;  indeed,  at  first  sight  you  would  think  her 
quite  plain ;  but  when  she  once  began  to  converse  there 
was  a  piquancy  and  sprightliness  about  her  conversation 
that  was  irresistibly  attractive  and  charming.  I  did  not 
wonder  that  Charlie  called  her  fascinating.  She  had  seen 
so  much  in  her  travels  that  she  was  never  at  a  loss  for 
pleasant  topics,  and  had  been  thrown  so  constantly  into 
the  best  society,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  that  the  timid- 
ity I  often  feel  in  unfamiliar  society  was  never  felt  by 
herself.  We  passed  a  very  pleasant  evening  together  ;  but 
when  it  was  over  and  the  gentlemen  had  gone,  I  sighed  to 
think  I  had  not  seen  Hal  even  for  a  moment,  save  in  the 
presence  of  others.  He  had  been  very  kind  and  attentive, 
and  once  had  whispered,  when  for  an  instant  we  stood  a 
little  apart  from  the  others  by  the  blazing,  cheerful  grate, 
"Hal's  darling!"  But  at  that  moment  Sallie  came  up 
with  some  witticism,  and  we  were  no  more  apart  from  the 
others.  But  even  that  little  word,  with  the  look  accom- 
panying it,  gave  me  food  for  happy  dreams;  for  did  it 
not  assure  me  of  his  unchanging  love  ?  But,  when  day 
after  day  passed  in  the  same  manner,  I  began  to  long  for 


160  BEECHWOOD. 

one  little  hour  alone  with  him.  It  seemed,  indeed,  to  be 
unavoidable,  or  rather  purely  accidental ;  still,  it  was  an- 
noying. I  had  not  seen  him  for  four  long  months,  and 
my  heart  was  brimful  of  things,  important  and  unimpor- 
tant, that  I  wished  to  say,  and  not  an  hour  had  we  had 
alone.  Hal  seemed  to  be  annoyed  by  it  as  much  as  myself, 
and  several  times  called  in  the  morning  hours  and  asked 
especially  for  me ;  but  we  were  never  alone  more  than  a  few- 
minutes  before  we  were  interrupted  in  one  way  or  another. 
At  one  time  Sallie  came  in  in  search  of  her  gloves,  apol- 
ogized when  she  saw  Hal,  asserting  her  ignorance  of  his 
call,  and,  standing  ready  every  moment  to  withdraw,  still 
chatted  merrily  on  until  his  time  was  spent  and  he  was 
obliged  to  go.  I  could  have  cried  with  vexation  ;  but  it 
was  all  so  innocently  done  that  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  blame  Sallie.  A  few  mornings  afterward  he  called 
'again ;  and  that  time  Sallie  wanted  to  ask  him  the  exact 
street  and  number  of  an  artist's  studio  we  wished  to  visit ; 
and  still  another  time  for  the  address  of  a  distant  friend 
that  she  had  forgotten.  And  so  it  went  from  time  to  time, 
until  I  half  fancied  there  was  a  design  in  it  all,  especially 
since  from  the  inquiries  we  always  fell  to  chatting  all  to- 
gether, and  Hal's  hour  was  invariably  consumed  without 
my  having  exchanged  with  him  more  than  half  a  dozen 
sentences.  The  morning  we  went  to  the  art-gallery  I 
thought,  "  Well,  now  at  least  I  can  talk  with  Hal  unheard, 
if  not  unseen;"  for  one  is  never  so  much  alone  as  in  a 
crowd,  and  there  are  so  many  quiet  nooks  and  corners  in 
such  places  where  one  may  sit  quietly,  apparently  exam- 
ining a  favorite  picture,  all  the  while  listening  to  or  con- 
versing with  a  friend.  But  in  this  again  I  was  doomed  to 
disappointment,  for  Sallie,  anxious  to  do  the  full  duty  of  a 
hostess,  stayed  with  us  almost  constantly,  in  order  to  point 
out  her  favorite  pictures  and  bring  out  beauties  that  other- 


BEECHWOOD.  161 

wise  we  might  have  overlooked ;  so  that,  much  as  I  en- 
joyed the  paintings  and  statuary,  I  could  not  help  feeling 
quite  dispirited  upon  my  return,  and,  shutting  myself  up 
in  my  own  room,  pleaded  a  severe  headache  and  took  a 
good  cry.  Here  had  I  been  nearly  three  weeks,  and,  in- 
stead of  my  usual  long  happy  talks  with  Hal,  had  only 
seen  him  in  the  midst  of  a  merry,  chatting  crowd. 
J&the  next  evening  there  was  quite  a  large  sleighing-party, 
and  Hal  had  said  to  me  in  a  whisper,  for  he  could  not  but 
see  my  disappointment,  "  Nevermind,  Nannie;  where  is  a 
better  chance  for  a  cozy  chat  than  under  a  buffalo  robe  in 
a  snug  little  cutter  gliding  merrily  over  the  snow?"  I 
thought  of  our  ride  in  the  early  Christmas  morning  last 
year,  and  was  comforted.  The  party  were  to  start  from 
Judge  Reve's  door,  and,  as  I  came  down -stairs  fully 
equipped,  Sallie  said,  "  Oh,  Nannie,  dear  child,  you  must 
have  two  veils;  your  face  will  freeze  through  one  !"  And 
I  ran  hastily  up  to  my  room  for  my  heavy  one. 

When  I  returned,  the  party  were  mostly  seated  in  their 
respective  sleighs,  and  Hal  stood  holding  his  horse  with 
one  hand,  and  waiting  to  help  me  into  his  cutter. 

"What  a  pretty  little  thing  it  is!"  I  thought;  "so  snug 
and  cozy." 

As  I  came  down  the  steps,  Sallie  was  talking  merrily  but 
emphatically  to  the  gentleman  who  was  waiting  to  help 
her  into  his  sleigh. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Raymond,"  she  said,  "  you  know  my  perfect 
horror  of  wild  horses,  and  yet  here  you  have  one  that  I  am 
quite  sure  will  break  my  neck." 

"Indeed  no,  Miss  Sallie,"  said  Mr.  Raymond.  "  He  is 
quite  gentle,  I  assure  you." 

"Gentle !  with  that  defiant  look  in  his  eye?" 

"That  is  his  natural  look.  The  poor  horse  is  not  to 
blame  for  his  looks." 


162  BEECHWOOD. 

"  Now  you  are  making  fun  of  me.  Nannie,"  she  said  to 
me,  as  I  was  about  to  pass  her,  "don't  you  think  he  looks 
wild?" 

"Why,  really,  Sallie,"  I  answered,  "I  don't  think  he 
looks  as  if  he  would  frighten  easily." 

"Don't  you,  really?" 

"Indeed  no." 

"Maybe  you  are  not  so  much  afraid  of  horses  as  I  am, 
and  so  would  not  notice  his  looks  as  much." 

"I  am  not  much  afraid  of  horses,  truly,"  I  said;  "  I  am  so 
used  to  them,  you  know."  And  I  started  to  pass  on  to  Hal. 

"Are  you  not,  truly?"  she  answered,  quickly.  "Then 
I  shall  certainly  hand  you  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
Mr.  Raymond  and  his  fiery  steed ;  for  I  am  sure  I  should 
die  of  terror  before  we  reached  home."  So  saying,  with  a 
merry  laugh,  and  without  waiting  for  my  reply,  she  sprang 
into  Hal's  cutter,  and,  seating  herself  comfortably,  looked 
over  her  shoulder  at  me  with  a  merry  laugh,  saying,  "  I  will 
not  even  ask  Dr.  Ray's  consent,  for  fear  he  will  deny  me, 
and  I  should  in  that  case  be  compelled  to  stay  at  home." 

Hal  looked  at  me  wistfully  a  moment ;  but  what  could 
he  do?  Turn  Sallie  out  of  his  sleigh ?  Certainly  not.  So 
I  was,  after  all,  compelled  to  ride  with  a  stranger  instead 
of  Hal.  He  was  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  for  a  moment 
seemed  annoyed;  then  he  laughed,  and  said,  "It  is  just 
like  Miss  Sallie  !  No  one  ever  knows  where  to  find  her. 
But  I  am  sure  I,  for  one,  am  delighted  with  the  ex- 
change." And  he  helped  me  into  his  cutter  gallantly, 
tucking  the  robes  carefully  about  me;  and  away  we  dashed 
to  the  merry  chime  of  his  silver  bells.  My  heart  was  so 
full  for  a  little  while  that  I  did  not  dare  to  trust  my  voice 
to  answer  him ;  but  I  soon  recovered  myself,  and  chatted 
gayly  and  merrily  all  the  time,  determined  not  to  let  him 
think  that  I  was  at  all  disconcerted  by  the  turn  affairs  had 


BEECHWOOD.  ^3 

taken.  But  my  heart  throbbed  with  a  dull,  heavy  throb 
all  the  while,  and  a  bitter  feeling  of  resentment  arose 
toward  both  Hal  and  Sallie  Reve.  What  right  had  she 
always  to  come  thus  between  Hal  and  myself?  Did  she  not 
know  we  were  engaged  ?  If  not,  she  still  could  not  but 
observe  our  preference  for  one  another.  And  Hal  himself,  I 
thought,  might,  if  he  chose,  have  been  a  little  more  decided. 
I  began  to  think  he  was  not  nearly  so  much  annoyed  by 
these  things  as  I.  So  thinking  and  feeling  in  my  heartt 
yet  all  the  while  chatting  merrily  with  Mr.  Raymond,  we 
at  last  reached  home.  None  of  the  party  had  yet  returned 
but  Gertie,  although  it  was  quite  late ;  for  which  I  was 
thankful.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  bolt  my  room  door, 
and  the  next  to  throw  myself  upon  the  bed  and  give  way  to 
my  long-pent-up  feelings.  When  Gertie  would  have  com- 
forted me,  I  cried,  vehemently, — 

"  No,  Gertie,  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  to  me.  I  knew  I  ought 
not  to  come  to  New  York ;  and  I  will  never  slight  such  im- 
pressions again.  What  comfort  have  I  had  ?  Only  annoy- 
ance all  the  time.  Think  how  different  it  would  have  been 
for  me  had  I  stayed  at  home  and  seen  Hal  there  instead  of 
here.  I  will  give  him  back  his  freedom,  and  he  may  marry 
Sallie  as  soon  as  he  likes." 

"  Oh,  now,  Nannie  darling,  you  are  excited,  and  conse- 
quently unreasonable.  I  admit  that  this  is  all  very  annoy- 
ing, but  you  are  wrong  to  blame  Hal  for  it  so.  I  am  sure 
he  has  called  repeatedly  at  the  house  and  asked  expressly 
for  you.  Was  it  his  fault  if  others  monopolized  his  time 
while  here  ?  And  then  to-night  what  would  you  have  had 
him  do  ?  Lift  Sallie  from  his  sleigh,  and  insist  upon 
taking  you?" 

"No,  certainly  not.     But  then " 

"  Then  you  must  see,  dear,  that  he  was  not  the  one  to 
blame." 


!64  BEECHWOOD. 

I  could  not  but  see  that  Gertie  was  right,  and  at  that 
moment  I  heard  the  other  sleighs  drive  up  to  the  door. 

"  I  cannot  see  her  to-night,"  I  said,  and  hastily  turned 
down  the  gas.  We  undressed  in  silence,  and  when  at  last 
I  knelt  beside  my  bed  for  my  evening  prayer,  I  prayed  long 
and  earnestly  that  I  might  do  only  what  was  right,  and  be 
enabled  to  cast  all  uncharitable  and  unamiable  feelings 
from  my  heart.  I  felt  much  better  when  I  arose,  and  as  I 
lay  down  upon  my  pillow  I  thought, — 

"  After  all,  Sallie  may  be  perfectly  innocent  of  any  design 
in  this  matter.  I  have  never  told  her  of  my  engagement,  and 
perhaps  no  one  else  has.  It  may  be  only  a  little  willful 
preference  she  feels  for  him ;  and  she  is  just  the  girl  not  to 
care  who  sees  it.  I  will  try  and  think  no  more  about  it. 
If  Hal  himself  is  true  to  me,  what  does  it  matter,  anyhow  ?" 

So  I  dropped  asleep ;  and  when  I  awakened  it  was  morn- 
ing, and  Gertie  was  up  and  dressed.  On  first  awaking  there 
was  a  dull,  heavy  weight  at  my  heart,  as  of  some  great 
grief;  but  I  soon  shook  it  off,  resolving  to  let  nothing  dis- 
turb me  on  this  last  day,  for  on  the  morrow  we  were  to 
return  to  dear  old  Beechwood,  and  I  was  fully  ready  to  go. 
If  Sallie  intended  to  wrong  me,  which  now  in  my  calmer 
moments  I  did  not  believe,  she  should  not  know  how  keenly 
the  blow  had  been  felt. 

We  were  a  little  late  at  breakfast,  and  found  the  others 
waiting  for  us,  grouped  about  the  cheerful  fire  in  the 
dining-hall.  As  we  entered,  Sallie  ran  forward  in  her  own 
graceful  way,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about  me,  said, — 

"I  declare,  Nannie,  I  deserve  your  eternal  displeasure 
for  my  rudeness  to  you  last  night.  I  was  so  frightened  at 
the  looks  of  that  dreadful  horse,  that  I  was  ready  for  any- 
thing, however  desperate,  to  escape  riding  behind  him ; 
and  when  you  spoke  so  fearlessly,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  I  thought  it  would  only  be  a  good  joke  to  let  you 


BEECHWOOD.  ^5 

ride  after  him,  not  thinking  how  rude  such  a  proceeding 
would  really  be.  I  am  terribly  ashamed  of  myself;  but 
you  will  forgive  me  this  once,  I  am  sure?"  And  she  put 
up  her  lips  for  a  kiss  very  temptingly. 

Her  apology  was  so  pretty  and  graceful,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  earnest,  that,  before  she  had  half  done,  I  had 
yielded,  as  usual,  and,  when  she  paused,  I  said, — 

"It  was  certainly  not  very  fair,  Sallie,  for  you  to  swap 
me  off  in  that  unceremonious  manner,  without  even  asking 
my  leave,  to  say  nothing  of  either  of  the  gentlemen ;  but 
what  can  I  do  at  this  late  hour  but  forgive  you?"  And  I 
kissed  the  offered  lips. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Nannie ;  you  are  always  so  good ;  and 
I  feel  conscious  that  I  do  not  deserve  your  kindness  so,  this 
morning;  but  I  won't  do  so  again,  indeed  no."  And, 
laughing  happily,  she  ran  back  to  her  seat  at  the  table. 

"  Ho ! "  said  Sallie's  little  ten-year-old  brother,  Joe,  "  ho ! 
who  would  have  thought  of  Sallie  being  afraid  of  a  horse  ? 
Why,  Sallie,  don't  you  remember  how  you  rode  that  wild 
horse  of  Uncle  Ned's  last  fall  when  we  were  at  the  farm, 
and  laughed  at  mamma  forlbeing  afraid  he  would  throw 
you?" 

"  That  was  a  very  different  matter,"  said  Sallie,  flushing 
quickly. 

"He  is  enough  sight  wilder  than  Mr.  Raymond's 
horse,"  said  Joe,  stoutly. 

An  emphatic  gesture  from  "  mamma"  silenced  the  young 
gentleman,  and  breakfast  proceeded ;  but  I  half  suspect, 
for  all  her  graceful  apology,  that  the  ruse  was  premedi- 
tated, and  not  merely  accidental. 

After  breakfast  Sallie  and  Nettie  went  out  shopping ;  but 
Gertie  and  I  remained  at  home,  not  feeling  disposed  to 
venture  into  the  frosty  air.  I  had  just  laid  the  last  articles 
in  my  trunk  preparatory  to  our  homeward  trip,  and  had 

'5 


!66  BEECHWOOD. 

said  to  Gertie,  "I  wish  it  were  to-day  we  were  going, 
instead  of  to-morrow,"  when  Gertie,  who  chanced  to  look 
from  the  window,  said,  suddenly, — 

"  Here  is  Hal,  Nannie,  just  stopping  at  the  door  with  a 
sleigh.  He  is  bound,  you  see,  that  you  and  he  shall  yet 
have  your  ride  together." 

"  I  shall  not  ride  with  him  to-day,  Gertie,  if  that  is  what 
he  has  come  for." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  Nannie  !  you  surely  will  not  be  more 
unkind  to  him  than  you  were  to  Sallie?" 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  be  unkind,  but  I  have  been  thwarted 
so  often  that  now  I  have  no  wish  to  see  him  alone.  Really, 
Gertie,"  I  said,  seeing  her  look  incredulous,  "I  mean 
what  I  say.  All  I  wished  to  say  to  him  is  forgotten,  or 
long  ago  become  stale;  and  all  I  now  desire  is  to  return 
to  our  own  dear  Beechwood  and  poor  lonely  mamma." 

At  this  moment  the  servant  entered,  with  Hal's  card  for 
me,  and  Gertie  said, — 

"Please,  Nannie,  go  with  him,  if  he  desires  it,  just  to 
please  me.  I  am  sure  it  will  be  best,  dear,  or  I  would  not 
urge  it." 

I  found  Hal  waiting  for  md",  with  a  half-troubled  look ; 
and  even  when  he  said,  tenderly,  "I  could  not  consent 
that  we  should  be  cheated  out  of  our  ride  altogether, 
Nannie,  and  so  I  came  this  morning  to  beg  you  to  accom- 
pany me,"  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  it  was  done  more 
to  pacify  me  than  through  any  positive  desire  upon  his 
part,  and  could  not  help  replying, — 

"I  scarcely  know,  Hal.  It  is  so  cloudy  and  cold  this 
morning,  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  much  more  comfortable 
by  the  fire." 

"You  are  not  offended  with  me,  Nannie?  You  could 
not  but  see  the  awkward  position  in  which  I  was  placed  last 
night." 


BEECHWOOD. 


167 


"Not  in  the  least  offended,  Hal,"  I  replied,  "but- 


"Then  prove  it,  darling,  by  going  with  me  at  once.  I 
have  much  to  say  to  you ;  and  to-morrow  you  go?" 

I  nodded  assent,  and  without  further  words  donned  my 
wraps  and  accompanied  him.  We  had  a  pleasant  drive, 
but  it  was  not  like  our  drives  of  old.  In  spite  of  all  I  could 
do,  there  was  a  feeling  of  constraint  I  had  never  before  felt 
with  Hal,  and  the  many  things  I  had  so  long  treasured 
in  my  heart  to  be  spoken  when  we  met  remained  unsaid. 
How  often  it  happens  that  when  we  have  been  disap- 
pointed, again  and  again,  in  the  attainment  of  an  object 
earnestly  desired,  a  perfect  revulsion  of  feeling  takes  place, 
and  we  no  longer  experience  a  desire  for,  or  pleasure  in, 
the  attainment  of  it !  So  it  was  with  me  now.  I  had  de- 
sired ardently  to  be  permitted  to  have  a  good  quiet  talk 
with  Hal,  but  had  so  often  been  thwarted  in  that  desire 
that  now  I  had  no  longer  anything  to  say,  and  really  would 
greatly  have  preferred  remaining  at  home.  I  think,  too, 
that  Hal  also  had  something  of  the  same  feeling;  for, 
although  he  was  loving  and  gentle  in  all  he  said  and  did, 
I  could  not  but  feel  all  the  time  that  it  required  an  effort 
for  him  so  to  be.  It  is  possible  my  own  mood  gave  color- 
ing to  this  thought,  and  I  earnestly  trust  it  is  only  so. 
Gertie  said  that  when  Sallie  returned  and  found  we  were 
driving,  she  remarked, — 

"  Dr.  Ray  and  Nannie  seem  to  be  great  friends." 

"Yes,"  said  Gertie,  in  her  own  quiet  way,  "it  is  right 
they  should  be ;  they  have  been  engaged  to  each  other  for 
more  than  a  year. ' ' 

"Indeed?"  said  Sallie,  in  apparent  surprise;  but  Hal 
told  me  while  we  were  driving,  in  answer  to  an  inquiry, 
that  he  had  told  her  of  our  engagement  a  few  days  before 
we  came  to  the  city.  It  is  very  strange.  I  cannot  quite 
understand  it. 


1 68  BEECHWOOD. 

Feb.  3.  The  more  I  dwell  upon  my  trip  to  New  York, 
the  more  dissatisfied  I  become  with  myself  and  others.  Of 
Sallie's  preference  for  Hal  I  can  no  longer  doul-t ;  but 
whether  or  not  he  is  conscious  of  it,  I  cannot  say.  That 
he  reciprocates  it,»save  in  a  friendly  way,  I  will  not  allow 
myself  for  a  moment  to  think ;  for,  whatever  his  faults  may 
be,  he  certainly  would  not  seek  to  deceive  me,  and  he 
writes,  since  my  return,  in  the  same  fond  strain,  and  speaks 
just  as  confidently  of  our  bright  future  as  ever.  But  there 
is  an  intangible  something  that  I  cannot  grasp,  that  makes 
me  constantly  restless,  and  at  times  even  unhappy.  There 
is  a  change  either  in  Hal  or  myself,  that  deprives  me  of  the 
old  perfect  freedom  of  thought  in  speaking  with  or  writing 
to  him.  I  ponder  more  over  my  letters  to  him,  and  often 
find  myself  wondering  "  if  Hal  will  like  that  expression," 
whereas  I  used  ever  to  write  just  what  was  in  my  heart, 
without  fear  or  hesitation.  I  don't  think  that  the  life  Hal 
leads  in  the  great  city  tends  at  all  to  elevate  and  purify 
one's  life.  This  constant  round  of  gayety  and  pleasure,  in 
which  he  seems  to  take  infinite  delight,  leaves  but  little 
time  for  study  and  reflection,  and  tends  to  enervate  rather 
than  ennoble  the  soul.  At  least  it  so  seems  to  me.  I  en- 
joy life  and  gayety  as  well  as  any  one  for  a  little  while,  but 
I  soon  grow  weary  of  them,  and  long  for  the  old  home 
duties  and  quiet  domestic  joys.  But  Hal  seems  never  to 
weary  of  pleasure.  According  to  his  own  account  and 
that  of  others,  he  is  never  out  of  the  ceaseless  whirl  that 
to  some  seems  so  fascinating.  It  is  true,  a  few  hours  of 
every  day  he  compels  himself  to  give  to  study  and  busi- 
ness, though  frequently  even  they  are  infringed  upon ;  but 
all  the  rest  of  his  time  he  is  in  some  gay  crowd,  enjoy- 
ing only  the  present.  His  old  tastes  and  habits  seem  to 
have  been  entirely  abandoned,  and  I  often  wonder  if 
really  for  the  better.  Not  that  I  should  ever  fear  that 


BEECHWOOD. 


169 


Hal,  my  noble  Hal,  could  ever  become  addicted  to  the 
vices  of  the  profligate ;  his  soul  is  far  above  that ;  but  in 
the  ceaseless  round  of  butterfly  pleasures,  one  is  so  apt  to 
forget  the  higher  and  more  ennobling  pursuits  of  life.  One 
night  at  Sallie's,  some  one  spoke  of  an  anticipated  visit  of 
Mr.  Spurgeon,  the  celebrated  English  divine,  to  America. 
In  the  course  of  the  conversation,  I  asked  Hal  whose 
church  he  attended  in  the  city.  The  gentlemen  looked 
amused,  and  Hal  seemed  a  little  embarrassed,  I  thought, 
as  he  answered, — 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,  Nannie,  I  have  not  been  very 
regular  in  my  attendance  upon  any  one  church  since  I  came 
to  the  city." 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  dryly.  "I 
will  tell  you,  Miss  Cleve ;  I  called  several  Sundays  in  suc- 
cession to  take  him  out  to  some  of  the  churches,  as  he  was 
a  stranger,  but  invariably  found  him  so  churlish  at  being 
roused  at  such  an  early  hour  from  his  morning  nap,  that  I 
generously  desisted,  and  left  him  to  enjoy  it  thereafter  un- 
molested. He  usually  has  his  breakfast  on  Sundays  about 
the  time  that  honest  people  are  returning  from  church." 

A  general  laugh  ensued,  as  Hal  retorted, — 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Raymond,  for  you  to  turn  '  State's  evi- 
dence' in  that  style,  when  you  well  know  it  is  your  own 
fault,  by  forcing  me  to  keep  such  late  hours  Saturday  nights 
that  I  sleep  late  of  Sunday  mornings.  I  am  not  so  old  a 
stager  as  yourself,  and  have  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  you 
know." 

This  rather  turned  the  tables  upon  Mr.  Raymond,  till 
Mr.  Burr,  a  young  gentleman  who  I  fancy  is  a  little  jealous 
of  Hal's  evident  preferment  with  Sallie,  came  to  the  rescue 
by  saying, — 

"When  you  consider  Dr.  Ray's  onerous  duties  to  the 
ladies,  you  will  be  more  charitable;  seeing  how  utterly  im- 

'5* 


170 


BEECHWOOD. 


possible  it  is  for  him  ever  to  get  much  sleep  unless  he  steals 
it  from  the  morning  hours." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Sallie,  "I  will  not  have  Dr.  Ray 
maligned  so  uncharitably  in  my  very  presence ;  let  us  have ' 
'  chess'  and  '  whist. ' ' '  And  she  led  the  way  to  the  tables.  But 
I  cannot  help  regretting  that  Hal's  Sundays  are  spent  so 
differently  from  what  they  used  to  be  at  home,  when  at- 
tendance not  only  upon  church,  but  also  upon  Sunday- 
school,  was  considered  a  pleasure  as  well  as  a  duty. 

Several  little  things  also  occurred,  mere  trifles  in  them- 
selves, but  which  showed  me  either  new  or  perverted  traits 
in  his  character,  that  gave  me  sudden  pain.  Once  he  rudely 
pushed  a  little  thin-faced  child  aside,  who  begged  him  for 
a  penny,  and  when  I  threw  one  back  to  it,  upon  the  pave, 
he  merely  said,  ''The  police  should  take  charge  of  these 
miserable  vagrants."  Once  also,  the  day  we  were  returning 
from  the  picture-gallery,  we  came  upon  an  old,  old  couple 
sitting  side  by  side  upon  the  steps  of  a  church.  They  were 
very  thinly  clad  and  forlorn-looking,  though  comparatively 
clean.  The  old  man  was  totally  blind,  and  his  wife  had 
such  a  pleading,  pitiful  look,  as  she  sat  silently  with  her 
poor  withered  hand  extended,  that  my  heart  was  deeply 
touched. 

"Oh,  Hal!"  I  said,  pityingly,  "do  see  that  poor 
old  couple  !"  And  I  drew  my  purse  hastily  from  my  coat- 
pocket. 

"You  must  not  stop  here,  on  this  public  thoroughfare," 
said  Hal,  impatiently,  hurrying  me  rapidly  on  :  "  the  city 
will  take  care  of  them," 

"Oh,  Hal,  do  let  me  stop,"  I  pleaded;  "the  poor 
creatures, — they  are  so  old  and  feeble."  But  he  looked 
so  annoyed  that  I  reluctantly  allowed  myself  to  be  drawn 
away. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  dear,"  he  said,   "  for  not  letting 


BEECHWOOD.  1?I 

• 
you  stop ;  but  they  are  all  impostors.    I  never  countenance 

them." 

"  Not  all,  Hal.  These  were  so  old  ;  and  the  man  was 
really  blind.  And  did  you  not  see  how  pitiful  his  wife 
looked?" 

"All  put  on,  Nannie.  When  you  once  come  to  the  city 
to  live,  you  will  become  so  familiar  with  these  things  you 
will  never  think  of  noticing  it,  much  less  of  making  your- 
self conspicuous  by  stopping  upon  a  crowded  thoroughfare 
to  relieve  it." 

"God  forbid!"  I  ejaculated,  fervently.  "And  as  to 
making  myself  conspicuous  by  such  an  act,  '  Honi  soit  qui 
mal  y  pense.' '  At  this  moment  we  reached  home,  and, 
after  a  few  parting  words,  Hal  left  me  upon  the  steps.  I 
waited  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  then  quickly  retraced  my 
steps  to  the  church,  and  placed  a  shilling  in  the  poor  out- 
stretched hand;  and  the  low,  fervent  "God  bless  you, 
miss!  now  we  can  buy  some  bread,"  convinced  me  that 
my  offering  had  not  been  idly  bestowed,  and  I  passed  on 
home  by  another  street,  with  a  lighter  heart,  at  least  for 
the  moment,  though  I  felt  inexpressibly  pained  that  Hal 
should  be  so  insensible  to  this  kind  of  suffering,  when  here 
in  the  city  he  could  so  often  relieve  it.  Uncle  Ralph,  I 
thought,  would  never  have  denied  me  the  pleasure  of 
speaking  to  that  old  couple  and  ministering  to  their  neces- 
sities. Not  that  I  think  indiscriminate  giving  is  always 
right  or  best.  We  often  meet  with  mendicants  of  strong 
limb  and  sinewy  frame,  whose  low,  debauched  features  are 
evidence  of  the  sinful  life  they  lead,  and  who  beg  simply 
because  it  is  easier  than  to  work.  For  such  as  these,  I 
admit,  I  have  only  a  shuddering  pity, — no  sympathy.  But 
for  helpless  childhood,  infirm  old  age,  or  real  distress  or 
suffering  in  any  shape  whatever,  I  have  ever  a  warm  heart 
and  a  ready  hand. 


I72  BEECHWOOD. 

• 
I  cannot  say  how  these  faults  in   Hal,  trifling  as  they 

may  seem  to  others,  have  troubled  me  since  my  return. 
It  grieves,  it  humbles  me,  to  find  my  idol,  whom  I  aspired 
to  think  so  far  "above  the  common  herd,"  whom  I  had 
placed  upon  a  pedestal  fit  even  for  the  gods,  is  only  mortal, 
stands  only  upon  the  earth  among  his  fellows.  Yet  why 
should  I  expect  him  to  be  so  perfect,  while  I  am  so  full  of 
faults?  It  is  meet  that  my  vanity  should  be  humbled, — 
yet  it  is  sad. 

Feb.  28.  An  incident  occurred  during  our  stay  in  New 
York  to  which  I  have  never  yet  alluded  in  my  diary,  al- 
though we  have  frequently  spoken  of  it  together.  But 
my  heart  has  been  so  full  of  Hal,  and  so  troubled  by 
these  half  doubts  and  fears,  that  when  I  sat  down  to  write 
I  could  think  of  nothing  else.  But  his  monthly  letter  was 
so  full  of  noble  and  beautiful  thoughts  and  high  resolves 
for  the  future,  that  the  old  gladness  has  returned,  and  I 
wonder  that  I  ever  could  have  so  magnified  trifles  that  may 
have 'occurred  but  once. 

But  to  my  incident,  which  is  by  no  means  so  unimportant 
as  my  negligence  would  imply.  One  morning,  when  Gertie 
and  I  had  started  out  alone  for  a  little  walk,  we  met  Ralph 
coming  to  the  door  with  a  letter  for  us  from  mamma,  and 
we  all  strolled  off  together  into  a  different  quarter  of  the 
city  from  any  we  had  yet  visited.  As  we  were  passing  in 
front  of  an  elegant  row  of  brown-stone  fronts,  I  caught  the 
glimpse  of  a  pale  face  at  a  window,  that  startled  me ;  but 
before  I  could  speak,  it  disappeared,  and  a  moment  after- 
ward the  front  door  opened,  and  a  light  little  figure  bounded 
down  the  flight  of  steps,  and  loving  arms  were  about  my 
neck,  and  warm  kisses  upon  my  cheek,  and  a  trembling 
voice  sobbed  out, — 

"Oh,  I  thought  I  should  never,  never  see  any  of  you 
again  !" 


BEECH  WOOD.  I^3 

"  My  God  !  it  is  Minnie,"  said  Ralph,  turning,  for  the 
moment,  white  as  death. 

"Yes,  Ralph,  it  is  Minnie, — or  all  that  is  left  of  her," 
trying  to  laugh  through  her  tears,  and  giving  him  her  hand, 
while  with  her  other  arm  she  embraced  Gertie  warmly. 
"  But  are  you  not  coming  in  ?" 

"  Is  this  your  home,  Minnie?"  I  said. 

"No;  it  is  Mrs.  May's.  We  are  here  for  a  short  time 
only;  and  this  morning  I  am  all  alone.  No  one  but  the 
servants  are  in  the  house." 

Thus  assured,  we  mounted  the  steps,  and  entered.  Minnie 
led  the  way  into  her  own  rooms, — a  very  pretty  suite  on  the 
second  floor.  She  looked  very  pale  and  thin,  and  in  an- 
swer to  our  inquiries  said  she  had  been  quite  ill,  but  was 
now  well  again,  only  not  strong.  She  did  indeed  look  very 
frail  and  delicate. 

"Why  have  you  not  written  to  us,  Minnie?"  I  said. 
"  We  have  all  wanted  so  much  to  hear  from  you,  especially 
mamma." 

"I  hardly  know,"  said  Minnie,  with  such  evident  em- 
barrassment that  it  needed  no  words  to  tell  us  she  was  no 
longer  her  own  mistress. 

"  I  cannot  wait  any  longer,"  said  Ralph,  evidently  very 
nervous  and  fidgety,  after  we  had  conversed  perhaps  half 
an  hour.  "I  promised  to  meet  Charlie  at  one  o'clock, 
and  it  is  now  nearly  twelve." 

"Is  Charlie  also  in  the  city?  How  I  would  love  to 
see  him!"  said  Minnie;  but  she  did  not  ask  for  him  to 
call,  nor  did  she  invite  us  to  repeat  our  visit.  She  seemed 
nervous,  and  started  at  every  little  sound  she  heard,  and 
evidently  dreaded  the  coming  of  some  one  while  we  were 
there,  and  that  some  one  could  be  no  other  than  her  hus- 
band. She  either  could  not  or  would  not  tell  us  of  their 
future  plans,  saying  everything  was  so  uncertain  she  could 


I74  BEECHWOOD. 

not  yet  tell  what  they  would  do.  We  arose  to  go,  and 
she  herself  accompanied  us  to  the  street  door. 

Ralph  and  Gertie  said  "good-by"  to  her  and  passed 
down  the  steps  and  started  slowly  along  the  pave,  while  I 
lingered  for  a  parting  kiss  and  word. 

"You  will  not  neglect  to  write  to  us  again,  and  often, 
dear  Minnie?"  I  said. 

"I  will  not  indeed,  if  possible.  Tell  Aunt  Fannie  I 
often  think  of  her,  and  deeply  regret  ever  having  given 

her  pain "  She  stopped  in  embarrassment,  for  at  that 

moment  her  husband  sprang  up  the  steps  to  where  we  were 
standing.  With  bold  effrontery  he  lifted  his  hat  to  me  and 
extended  his  hand ;  but,  with  a  contemptuous  look  full  in 
his  face,  I  bowed  coldly,  and,  with  a  hasty  kiss  and  a  fer- 
vent "God  bless  you,  darling!"  to  Minnie,  I  ran  down 
the  steps,  and  soon  rejoined  Ralph  and  Gertie. 

"The  contemptible  scoundrel !"  said  Ralph,  compress- 
ing his  lips  when  I  told  them  of  my  encounter.  "  It  was 
to  avoid  just  such  a  meeting  as  that — for  Minnie's  sake 
only,  mind  you — that  I  hastened  to  leave  the  house.  I  am 
sure,  had  I  met  him  face  to  face,  that  he  would  have  felt 
the  weight  of  my  cane.  Any  one  can  see  by  her  pale 
little  face  the  kind  of  life  he  leads  her,  confound  him  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is  not  very  happy,"  said  Gertie. 

"Happy?  Any  one  can  see  that  she  is  afraid  even  to 
say  her  life  is  her  own,"  said  Ralph,  bitterly. 

And  so  conversing  we  soon  reached  home,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  necessity  dropped ;  but  poor  Ralph  wore  an  anx- 
ious, troubled  look  all  the  rest  of  our  stay. 

Mamma  was  greatly  shocked  when  we  told  her  of  Min- 
nie's altered  looks  and  manners ;  and  she  charged  Charlie 
to  go  to  the  house  at  once,  upon  his  return  to  the  city,  and 
bear  to  Minnie  a  letter  she  herself  would  write,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, see  her  himself.  He  did  as  mamma  requested  ;  but 


BEECHWOOD.  !75 

the  servant  at  the  door  told  him  that  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Leslie  had  been  gone  from  the  city  for  more  than  a  week, 
and  he  really  had  no  idea  of  their  destination.  Charlie 
even  went  so  far  as  to  write  a  polite  request  for  Minnie's 
address  upon  a  card  and  send  it  to  Mrs.  May  by  the  ser- 
vant. Her  reply  was  that  Colonel  Leslie  expected  to  be 
traveling  from  place  to  place  for  some  time,  and  she  really 
had  no  idea  where  a  letter  would  reach  them. 

"The  truth  of  the  matter  is,"  said  Ralph,  "he  is  such 
a  scamp  that  his  family  take  '  very  little  stock '  in  him,  and 
his  goings  and  comings  are  of  little  importance  to  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Gertie,  "and  they  all  think  much  less  of 
poor  Minnie,  now  that  she  is  his  wife,  than  they  did  when 
she  was  simply  his  sister's  friend." 

"That  is  very  probable,"  said  mamma.  "Poor  child! 
she  is  paying  very  dearly  for  her  rashness ;  and  the  great 
fear  is  that  she  will  grieve  herself  to  death  away  among 
strangers,  with  no  one  to  care  for  or  minister  to  her." 

"I  do  wonder,"  said  Ralph,  excitedly,  "if  it  could  be 
a  crime  to  send  a  bullet  through  the  brain  of  such  a  vil- 
lain !  I  am  sure  I  will  not  be  answerable  for  his  life  if  he 
ever  crosses  my  path." 

"  Hush,  my  son,"  said  mamma,  calmly.  "  'Vengeance 
is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.'  " 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Ralph ;  "  I  only  hope  in  this  case  he  will 
not  delay  it  till  it  is  too  late  to  do  poor  Minnie  any  good." 
And  he  walked  impatiently  out  of  the  room,  but  put  his 
head  in  the  door  a  moment  afterward  and  said,  "Forgive 
me,  mamma,  I  did  not  mean  to  be  irreverent." 

"  Poor  Ralph  !"  said  mamma  ;   "I  am  sure  he  did  not." 

March  21.  To-day  mamma  had  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Ralph.  He  says  he  is  tired  of  traveling,  has  grown  large 
and  strong  enough  to  be  "  in  danger  of  being  run  for  an 
alderman"  upon  his  return,  and  altogether  thinks  that  he 


I76  BEECHWOOD. 

has  played  truant  from  business  long  enough,  so  that  we 
may  soon  expect  to  see  him  in  bodily  presence  at  Beech- 
wood.  I  assure  you  it  made  no  little  stir  in  our  quiet 
home  to  hear  that  one  so  dearly  beloved  as  he  is  was  again 
coming  into  our  midst.  Uncle  Ben  has  been  trying  to  per- 
suade him  to  remove  to  St.  Louis,  and  we  greatly  feared  at 
one  time  with  success ;  but  he  says  he  thinks  he  is  getting 
too  old  (thirty-three  this  month)  to  change  his  residence 
now, — that  he  shall  cling  to  our  beautiful  little  village,  in 
all  probability,  for  life.  Although  Gertie  and  I  laugh  at 
the  bare  idea  of  Uncle  Ralph  being  old,  we  are  greatly 
satisfied  with  his  resolution,  for  Beechwood  would  lose 
half  of  its  attractions  if  Uncle  Ralph  were  to  remove 
permanently  from  its  vicinity.  Mamma,  too,  drew  a  long 
sigh  of  evident  relief  at  his  decision  ;  for  since  dear  papa's 
death  she  has  looked  to  him  and  clung  to  him  as  she  could 
to  none  other.  And,  indeed,  he  has  filled  the  place  of 
father,  brother,  and  friend  to  all  of  us ;  and  few  men  have 
ever  been  so  reverenced  and  loved  as  is  Uncle  Ralph  by 
the  inmates,  one  and  all,  of  Beechwood.  Our  highest  re- 
ward when  children  was  his  praise,  and  so,  too,  now  our 
greatest  pleasure  is  to  receive  his  approbation  and  love. 
The  idea  of  living  under  the  ban  of  his  displeasure  would 
be  a  calamity  too  terrible  for  contemplation.  Gertie  and 
I  have  talked  of  nothing  all  day  but  his  coming,  until  at 
last  Aunt  Martha  said, — 

"Well,  I  declare,  girls,  one  would  think,  to  hear  you 
two  talk,  that  your  Uncle  Ralph  was  the  only  man  that 
ever  lived  in  the  world." 

"We  do  not  think  him  the  only  one,  Aunt  Martha," 
said  Gertie;  "but  very  decidedly  the  best." 

"I  wonder  if  Nannie  sanctions  that  remark,"  she  said, 
teasingly. 

"I  think  him  at  least  one  of  the  very  best,"  I  said, 


flEECHWOOD. 


177 


laughingly;  but  I  could  not  but  fall  to  thinking  of  him 
and  Hal  together,  and  found  myself  ere  long  wondering 
if  Hal  would  be  the  great,  noble-souled  man  at  Uncle 
Ralph's  age  that  he  himself  is,  and  inwardly  praying  that 
outward  circumstances  would  indeed  influence  him  so  to 
be.  What  better  prayer  could  I  make  for  my  absent  lover? 
May  God  mercifully  hear  and  answer.  But  Gertie  is  calling 
me  for  a  walk ;  I  must  not  detain  her. 

April  8.  Spring,  glad  and  beautiful,  is  with  us  early 
this  year,  and  all  nature  is  dressed  in  holiday  attire  to  wel- 
come her  coming.  The  air  is  redolent  with  the  breath  of 
the  early  flowers,  and 

" full  of  a  strange,  sweet  calm  ; 

While  the  fragrant  breath  of  morning 
Falls  like  a  holy  balm." 

Beechwood,  dear  old  Beechwood,  is  never  so  beautiful 
as  in  spring-time.  Then  she  throws  off  the  dark  robes  of 
winter,  and  dons  her  brightest  attire;  and  truly,  to. young 
eyes  familiar  to  her  from  infancy,  she  is  surpassingly  beau- 
tiful. I  have  seen  many  lovely  landscapes  and  many  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful  homes,  but,  though  they  may  surpass 
our  own  in  grandeur  and  extent,  yet,  for  beauties  of  loca- 
tion, charming  views  without,  and  substantial  comfort  and 
loving  hearts  within,  give  me  Beechwood  over  all  the 
world  !  Situated  upon  a  little  knoll,  whose  east  and  south 
slopes  are  an  unbroken  lawn,  except  only  where  the  trees 
and  shrubbery  dot  its  verdant  sward,  making  cool  and 
sweet  contrast  to  the  sunny  slopes  around,  the  old  house 
stands.  It  is  not  one  to  strike  the  beholder  with  its  mag- 
nificent architecture  or  grand  proportions,  though  it  is  of 
solid  and  substantial  workmanship.  It  fronts  south,  with 
a  wide  hall  in  the  centre,  cool  parlors  upon  the  left, 
and  drawing-room  and  morning-room  to  the  right ;  while 

16 


I7g  BEECHWOOD. 

beyond  them,  in  a  unique  little  wing,  is  the  long,  pleasant 
library,  amid  whose  multiplied  volumes  one  can  ever  be- 
guile the  hours  that  otherwise  would  be  weary,  and  find 
but  little  opportunity  or  inclination  for  ennui  or  regrets. 
But,  although  the  house  fronts  south,  the  main  entrance  is 
from  the  east ;  for  a  long  avenue  of  beech-trees,  planted 
by  grandpapa's  own  hands,  and  beginning  nearly  a  mile 
from  the  house,  winds  up  to  the  very  door  of  the  east 
hall,  which  extends  just  back  of  the  parlors  and  drawing- 
rooms,  and  has  always  been,  in  reality,  the  main  entrance. 
The  dining-room  and  spacious  kitchen  are  in  an  L, 
still  back  of  this,  and  cool  verandas  encircle  almost  the 
entire  house.  Then,  from  the  windows  of  the  sleeping- 
rooms  above,  the  view  is  charming.  To  the  east  and  front, 
immediately  beneath  the  eye,  are  the  beautiful  lawns ; 
beyond,  the  winding  avenue  of  stately  trees,  the  little 
church  on  the  hill,  and  Pine  Grove,  Colonel  Ray's  place, 
half  hidden  by  its  stately  pines ;  and,  in  the  distance,  the 

spires  and  roofs  of  the  village  of  M ;    while  from  the 

south  windows  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  Atlantic, 
about  three  miles  away,  and  whose  angry  roar  we  can  some- 
times hear  above  the  tempest,  when  it  dashes  its  waves  in 
mad  fury  against  the  rock-bound  shore.  Just  west  of  the 
house  are  the  beautiful  beech-groves,  so  inviting  to  the  lover 
of  nature ;  to  the  north  is  the  garden,  and  beyond  it  the 
orchard,  of  whose  sunny  slope  and  peaceful  shades  I  have 
before  written. 

Such  is  Beechvvood  to  a  stranger.  But  who  can  describe 
it  as  it  appears  to  the  loving  eyes  that  see  something  to  ad- 
mire in  every  leaf  and  spear  of  grass  there  growing,  or  to 
the  loving  hearts  that  cherish  every  shaded  nook,  and 
moss-grown  rock,  and  hidden  path,  as  something  almost 
sacred  ?  Not  a  room  in  the  dear  old  house  but  is  hallowed 
by  some  past  association  ;  not  a  walk  or  nook  upon  the 


BEECHWOOD. 


179 


grounds  that  has  not  its  own  peculiar  memory  or  history ; 
and  there  would  be  such  a  hubbub  raised  about  the  ears  of 
the  unfortunate  man  who  should  attempt  to  inaugurate  a 
change,  either  in  house  or  grounds,  as  would  cause  him 
to  believe  Babel  itself  was  reproduced. 

April  21.  Three  days  ago  Uncle  Ralph  came  home, 
and  such  a  glad  welcome  as  we  gave  him  !  He  seems  very 
well  and  strong,  and  all  the  lines  of  care  that  shadowed  his 
dear  face  when  he  left  us  have  disappeared.  He  is  the 
same  dear,  good  Uncle  Ralph  he  used  to  be,  except  that 
he  no  longer  treats  us  as  little  children, — which  I  can- 
not but  regret.  I  would  love  for  Uncle  Ralph  always  to 
think  of  me  as  a  little  child.  On  the  day  that  he  came, 
Gertie  and  I  hovered  about  him  all  the  time ;  we  could  not 
bear  to  lose  sight  of  him  for  a  moment ;  and  once,  as 
I  passed  behind  the  arm-chair  in  which  he  sat,  with  his 
dear  head  thrown  negligently  back,  in  an  attitude  of  re- 
pose, as  he  talked  to  mamma  and  Aunt  Martha,  I  could  not 
forbear  bending  over  and  kissing  the  white  high  forehead, 
saying  impulsively  the  while, — 

"  You  dear  old  Uncle  Ralph,  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you 
back  with  us  again  !" 

He  flashed  a  bright,  glad  look  up  at  me  when  I  spoke, 
and  raised  his  hand  as  though  to  caress  me  in  the  old  fond 
way,  but  dropped  it  again  presently,  as  he  said,  "  Thank 
you,  dear  child.  I  assure  you  I  am  very  happy  to  be  back 
with  you  all  again,"  and  went  on  talking  with  mamma; 
but  the  remembrance  of  the  bright  look  he  gave  me  made 
me  happy  all  evening,  for  it  assured  me  that  I  still  held 
my  old  place  in  his  heart.  But  mamma  took  occasion  to 
say  to  me  afterward, — 

"You  must  try,  darling,  and  be  a  little  less  impulsive 
with  Uncle  Ralph.  You  know  he  no  longer  looks  upon 
you  and  Gertie  as  little  children." 


!8o  BEECIIWOOD. 

"Why,  mamma,"  I  said,  a  little  confusedly,  "do  you 
think  I  did  wrong  to-day?  I  do  love  him  so  dearly,  and 
it  is  so  very  difficult  not  to  show  it,  especially  after  he  has 
been  gone  so  long." 

"  No,  dear,  not  wrong.  It  was  very  natural  that  you 
should  show  your  pleasure  at  his  return ;  but  when  you 
remember  that  there  really  exists  no  tie  of  blood  between 
you,  and  that  you  can  no  longer  be  considered  a  child, 
you  cannot  but  see  that  the  old  childish  freedom  would 
scarcely  now  be  admissible." 

"I  see  that,  as  usual,  you  are  right,  dear  mamma;  but, 
oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  have  remained  a  child  a  little 
longer !" 

Yet  I  could  not  but  think,  after  I  had  spoken,  how  easily 
mamma  might  have  retorted  that  Hal  and  I  were  in  great 
haste  to  prove  that  I  was  beyond  its  precincts,  when  I  might 
easily  then  have  pleaded  for  a  little  delay.  But  mamma 
never  retorts. 

Uncle  Ralph  has  much  to  tell  us  that  is  full  of  interest, 
of  his  travels,  but  which  time  and  space  will  not  permit 
me  here  to  record.  First  of  all,  he  took  one  of  the 
pleasant  lake-steamers  at  Buffalo,  and  made  the  tour  of  the 
northern  lakes, — passing  through  Erie,  and  the  tiny  St. 
Clair,  with  its  many  beautiful  islands,  then  across  troubled 
Huron,  stopping  for  a  few  days  at  Mackinac,  which  lies  in 
its  rare  loveliness,  like  a  fairy  isle,  in  the  straits  of  the  same 
name.  He  said  that  of  all  quiet  and  beautiful  spots  he  never 
yet  had  seen  one  that  could  surpass  in  grandeur  and  love- 
liness this  little  islet,  whose  whole  circumference,  I  believe, 
is  but  nine  miles.  They  landed  just  at  sunset,  and,  as 
Gertie  said,  it  was  as  good  as  a  fairy-tale  to  hear  him  de- 
scribe the  scene  as  it  burst  upon  him  there.  The  old  fort 
frowning  down  from  its  rugged  and  precipitate  height  upon 
the  little  village,  so  quaint  and  old,  at  its  feet;  the  white 


BEECHWOOD.  X8i 

beach,  upon  which  the  Indian  children  played,  washed  by 
the  waters  of  the  straits ;  the  many  islets  in  the  distance, 
and  the  broad  waters  of  the  lakes  stretching  far  away, 
studded  here  and  there  with  the  tiny  white  sails  of  the  fisher- 
men or  pleasure-seekers  ;  the  little  harbor,  with  one  or  two 
other  steamers  besides  the  one  he  was  himself  upon,  and 
over  it  all  the  golden  light  of  the  sunset  clouds  and  the 
lengthening  shadows  of  the  overhanging  cliffs.  Then  the 
island  itself  he  describes  as  one  of  wondrous  beauty  and 
full  of  many  enchanting  walks  and  drives  ;  possessed  of 
many  places  of  interest  to  the  lovers  of  the  wonderful,  and 
having  connected  with  it  legends,  many  of  which  are  full  of 
fearful  interest  to  the  inhabitants,  who  cling  to  their  tradi- 
tions with  superstitious  awe.  Upon  leaving  Mackinac,  he 
returned  through  the  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  whose  scenery  is  very 
fine,  and  traversed  the  whole  length  of  grand  Superior, 
visiting  the  iron,  copper,  and  silver  mines,  and  bringing 
to  us  many  beautiful  specimens  of  agate  and  other  rare 
stones.  Afterward  he  visited  by  rail  all  the  cities  of  note 
in  the  great  Northwest ;  crossed  their  beautiful  prairies, 
which  he  says  for  hundreds  of  miles  are  perfectly  level,  and 
in  the  spring  covered  with  exquisitely  beautiful  flowers, 
making  the  earth  look  as  if  it  was  spread  with  a  carpet  of 
brilliant  colors,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  He  reached  St. 
Louis,  spent  a  few  weeks  there,  and  then  he  and  Ned  took 
a  trip,  upon  one  of  the  palatial  Mississippi  steamers,  to  the 
South,  and  spent  some  weeks  visiting  the  principal  Southern 
cities;  and  now  he  is  once  more  at  Beechwood,  and  we 
have  resolved  not  to  let  him  out  of  our  sight  for  such  another 
trip,  very  soon  again.  We  need  him  too  much  at  home. 
He  says  Ralph  has  done  wonders  in  his  absence,  and  he 
.should  never  fear  to  trust  him  in  the  future  with  anything, 
at  which  praise  Ralph  looked  justly  proud. 

April  23.     This  is  a  lovely  spring  day,  but,  like  a  capri- 
16* 


182  BEECHWOOD. 

cious  child,  alternate  smiles  and  tears.  Gertie  and  I  started 
for  a  walk  over  to  Nettie's,  but  when  about  half-way  there 
were  caught  in  a  violent  shower  of  rain,  which  so  saturated 
our  garments  that  we  were  compelled  to  return  home ;  but 
before  we  reached  the  house  the  sun  shone  out  merrily,  as 
though  laughing  at  our  distress.  The  little  birds  are  fairly 
wild  with  happiness,  and  the  whole  earth  seems  one  fairy 
garden  of  delight. 

Yesterday  Gertie  and  I  planted  fresh  flowers  upon  dear 
little  Kittie's  grave,  and  trained  the  luxuriant  branches 
of  the  white  rose  we  had  at  first  planted,  into  a  perfect 
little  bower  above  her  tiny  moss-grown  grave.  The  little 
form  is  long  ago  but  dust,  but  the  memory  of  the  precious 
child  is  as  fresh  and  green  and  fragrant  in  our  hearts 
to-day  as  the  bright  tendrils  of  the  rose-tree  that  ere 
long  will  burst  into  such  fragrant  loveliness  above  her 
narrow  bed.  Alas  !  how  many  such  landmarks  do  we 
plant  by  the  wayside  in  our  brief  life-journey,  and  how 
yearningly,  as  we  pass  onward,  do  we  look  back  to  them, 
often,  though  miles  away,  bending  in  spirit  above  them, 
dropping  bitter  tears  of  remembrance  !  Happy  for  us  if 
their  bitterness  is  unmixed  with  remorse.  Eight  years  have 
passed  since  dear  papa  was  laid  to  rest  on  the  hillock  where 
little  Kittie  to-day  sleeps  beside  him,  and  all  that  the  ten- 
derest  love  can  do  to  beautify  the  spot  has  been  done. 
His  grave  is  to  mamma  a  sacred  shrine,  and  ever  will  be. 
She  was  but  thirty-two  when  he  was  drowned, — in  the  very 
prime  of  a  most  beautiful  womanhood, — and,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  she  has  several  times  been  sought  by  the  best  of 
men ;  but  her  answer  is  always  the  same,  that  she  has  no 
heart  to  bestow,  and  that  marriage  without  love  is  a  dese- 
cration. She  never  speaks  of  these  things  herself,  but  Aunt 
Katie  told  me  that  twice  the  gentlemen  had  appealed  to  her 
for  her  influence,  and  at  another  time  I  myself  was  com- 


BEECHWOOD.  ^3 

pelled  to  listen  to  a  conversation  not  intended  for  my  ears. 
It  was  only  a  short  time  before  little  Kittie  died,  and  I,  in 
romping  with  her,  had  hidden  myself  in  the  cloak-closet  that 
is  in  the  drawing-room,  and  while  there  a  gentleman,  an 
old  friend  of  mamma's,  was  shown  in,  and  I,  thinking  that 
he  would  not  long  remain,  and  not  liking  to  come  out 
before  him,  foolishly  remained  in  my  concealment.  When 
mamma  came  in,  she  sat  down  only  a  little  distance  from 
the  closet-door,  and  he  soon  joined  her.  I  sat  down  on 
the  floor  to  wait,  and  fell  to  thinking  of  a  very  interesting 
story  1  had  been  reading,  and  did  not  notice  the  conversa- 
tion until  I  heard  mamma  say,  evidently  much  troubled, — 
"You  distress  me,  Mr.  Blair.  Please  say  no  more  on 
this  subject." 

"But  why  is  it,  Fannie?  You  used  to  like  me  well 
enough.  I  once  fancied,  many  years  ago,  while  you  were 
yet  free,  that  had  I  not  been  so  diffident  in  speaking  I 
might  have  won  you  then." 

"  Let  the  past  speak  for  itself;  now  we  have  only  to  deal 
with  the  present.  I  respect  and  honor  you ;  nay,  more,  in 
a  certain  way  I  love  you.  Do  not  mistake  me  :  it  is  only 
the  love  that  one  friend  may  feel  for  another  greatly  valued ; 
beyond  this  I  have  nothing  to  give." 

"But  in  time,  Fannie, — may  I  not  hope  that  all  these 
years  of  patient  waiting  will  some  day  be  rewarded  by  your 
love?" 

My  heart  was  a-quiver.  I  could  not  but  hear  every 
word  spoken,  and  the  thought  of  mamma — dear,  precious 
mamma — ever  belonging  to  any  one  but  her  children, 
was  dreadful  to  me.  The  answer  set  me  at  rest,  for  it  was 
decisive,  though  low  and  tenderly  spoken  : — 

"When  I  married  Charlie  Cleve,  I  gave  him  my  whole 
undivided  heart ;  and  when  God  called  him  away  from  me, 
he  took  it  with  him  into  eternity.  It  may  be  right  for  some 


1 84  BERCHWOOD. 

persons  to  marry  twice,  ^out  for  me — neverj  In  the  here- 
after I  wish  to  stand  beside  him,  andHFay  my  hand  with 
the  old  trust  in  his,  and  say  to  him,  '  I  have  waited  for 
you;'  and  nothing  must  come  between  us.  Another 
marriage,  another  love,  would  be  sacrilege ;  for  my  whole 
heart  is,  not  in  his  grave,  for  he  yet  lives  in  the  bright 
hereafter,  but  in  his  keeping." 

There  was  a  moment's  unbroken  silence ;  then,  as  he  arose 
to  go,  Mr.  Blair  said,  evidently  much  moved, — 

"  My  great  disappointment  does  not  prevent  my  honor- 
ing you  still  more  for  the  sentiments  you  have  uttered.  I 
do  not  wonder  that  you  were  Charlie's  idol,  while  living, 
for  such  devotion  must  ever  find  reciprocation.  I  am  not 
a  Christian,  but  I  cannot  doubt  that  eternity  has  for  you 
both  untold  happiness.  May  God  bless  you,  dear  Fannie, 
although  you  have  to-night  shattered  the  brightest  dream 
of  my  life." 

A  moment  later  he  was  gone ;  and  I  heard  mamma 
sobbing  softly  to  herself.  I  felt  guilty  for  not  at  once 
coming  out  when  they  first  began  to  talk ;  but  it  was  now 
too  late  for  regrets.  After  a  moment  I  tapped  softly  upon 
the  door,  and  mamma,  not  noticing  from  which  door  the 
rap  came,  said  "  Come  in,"  and  I  entered.  She  did  not 
even  then  notice  from  whence  I  came,  the  two  doors  are  so 
near  each  other,  and  I  sat  down  beside  her,  before  she 
noticed  my  evident  agitation. 

"What  is  it,  Nannie?" 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  mamma,  but  I  have  unwittingly  over- 
heard all  that  passed  between  yourself  and  Mr.  Blair." 
And  I  related  to  her  the  circumstances  of  my  concealment 
and  of  their  subsequent  entrance. 

"I  regret  it,  Nannie;  for  such  things  are  better  always 
known  only  to  the  parties  concerned.  As  it  is,  my  darling, 
you  will,  I  am  sure,  let  it  go  no  further." 


BEECHWOOD. 


185 


"Never,  dear  mamma,"  I  said;  and  I  have  kept  my 
word ;  only  after  this  long  time  I  am  sure  I  may  tell  it, 
dear  old  book,  to  you,  without  fear  of  betrayal.  I  have 
thought  many  times  of  this  beautiful  love,  that  for  so  many 
years  has  been  all  that  mamma  had  left  of  her  early  dream ; 
and  I  can  better  understand  the  faith  in  which  she  here 
walks  daily,  and  the  patient  trust  with  which  she  looks  to 
the  future ;  for  "where  the  treasure  is,  there  will  the  heart 
be  also." 

As  for  myself,  dearly  as  I  love  Hal,  I  cannot  but  feel,  of 
late,  that  there  is  a  depth  in  my  heart  still  unstirred, — a 
low  undertone  in  the  soul's  anthem  that  has  never  found 
its  echo.  I  do  not  fear  that  he  could  not  reach  the  one, 
that  he  could  not  awaken  the  other,  but  that  he  will  not, 
and  they  will  sleep  forever.  Our  love  awoke  so  early, 
was  so  early  reciprocated  and  revealed,  and  has  glided  so 
quietly  and  imperceptibly  on,  that  its  inner  depths  still  lie 
in  unbroken  slumber.  So  with  the  woodland  stream  whose 
waters  may  be  tranquil,  but  deep.  While  the  skies  are 
blue  above  it,  and  the  storms  and  tempests  visit  it  not, 
when  there  is  nothing  to  obstruct  its  way,  it  flows  on  placid 
and  noiseless  forever;  and,  gazing  upon  its  clear  waters,  one 
knows  not  of  their  depth  or  strength.  But  once  let  the 
tempest  break  above  it,  let  huge  rocks  be  thrown  into  its 
quiet  bed,  let  its  deep  under -current  be  troubled  and  broken, 
and  it  will  bound  on  with  alarming  rapidity,  and  break  in 
angry  waves  about  obstacles  that  have  been  thrown  in  its 
way.  Like  love,  it  must  be  tested  to  develop  its  strength. 
Not  that  I  wish  it  otherwise  with  us :  its  very  tranquillity  is 
bliss  unspeakable. 

May  3.  A  long  letter  from  Cousin  Fanny,  to-day,  tells 
me  that  she  expects  to  be  married  in  August  next,  and 
begs  me  to  come  and  spend  the  summer  with  her,  and 
officiate  as  chief  bridesmaid.  They  expect  to  start  for 


!86  BEECHWOOD. 

Europe  immediately  after  the  ceremony,  and  Fannie  urges 
me,  if  I  cannot  possibly  be  present  at  the  wedding,  to  meet 
her  at  New  York  and  go  with  them  to  the  Old  World. 
They  will  be  absent  six  or  eight  months.  It  would  be  de- 
lightful, I  am  sure,  both  to  go  to  the  wedding  and  to  visit 
the  continent,  but  I  must  forego  both  pleasures  for  the  sake 
of  one  dearer.  Hal  comes  home  early  in  June,  to  spend 
several  weeks,  and,  foolish  little  girl  that  I  am,  the  thought 
of  being  with  him  again  in  the  quiet  of  Beechvvood  out- 
weighs all  other  pleasures,  however  inviting.  It  has  always 
been  the  dream  of  my  life  to  visit  the  continent;  but  how 
could  I  voluntarily  place  the  great  ocean  between  us? 
Perhaps  we  may  some  day  visit  it  together.  I  will  try  and 
go  to  New  York,  however,  and  see  Fannie  before  she  sails, 
and  wish  her  "un  bon  voyage." 

When  we  left  New  York,  after  the  holidays,  Sallie  Reve 
promised  to  visit  us  early  in  May ;  but  she  writes  now  that 
she  cannot  come  before  the  middle  of  the  month.  I  am 
half  sorry,  for  I  want  her  to  make  a  good  long  visit,  and  I 
must  confess  that  I  would  rather  she  should  make  it  before 
Hal  comes,  than  during  his  visit,  for  she  is  so  gay  that  I 
cannot  see  half  so  much  of  Hal  when  we  are  all  together 
as  when  we  have  only  ourselves  here.  That  looks  selfish, 
I  know;  (but  when  was  not  love  selfish?  )  Then,  too,  she 
can  see  him  when  she  will,  in  New  York,  and  I,  only 
during  his  semi-yearly  visits  home ;  for  mamma  objects  to 
his  coming  oftener  till  our  two  years  of  probation  have 
expired.  It  only  lacks  a  few  months  yet  for  their  fulfill- 
ment, and  I  can  scarcely  say  whether  I  am  glad  or  sorry. 
The  thought  of  some  day  being  always  with  Hal  is  very 
precious  to  me;  while  at  the  same  time  the  thought  of 
leaving  dear  quiet  Beechwood  forever,  for  the  crowded 
streets  and  noise  and  turmoil  of  a  great  city,  is  very  sad- 
dening. Then,  too,  the  day  that  Hal  and  I  were  sleighing 


BEECHWOOD. 


187 


in  New  York,  as  we  passed  a  fine  block  of  buildings  in 
course  of  erection  upon  one  of  the  most  fashionable  streets, 
he  said, — 

"Those  will  be  ready  for  renting  next  fall,  and  I  have 
thought  several  times  of  securing  one  of  them,  they  are 
so  pleasantly  located.  I  long  for  the  time  to  come  when 
I  may  return  at  evening  and  find  my  Nannie  at  the  door 
or  window  waiting  for  me." 

"Ah,"  I  said,  blushing,  "but  not  on  this  noisy  street, 
Hal.  A  nice  little  home  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city  will 
be  so  much  more  pleasant;  and  these  street-cars  do  anni- 
hilate distance." 

"In  the  suburbs?  Excuse  me,  please.  I  detest  suburbs; 
and  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  want  to  hide  my  wife,  when  I 
have  one,  away  from  all  society  and  enjoyment  in  that 
style." 

"  Suppose  she  prefers  such  seclusion,  deeming  home 
enjoyments  far  preferable  to  any  other?" 

"Then  she  must  learn,  for  her  husband's  sake,  to  think 
otherwise.  No  life  so  humdrum,  say  I,  as  this  constant 
seclusion  from  society.  People  soon  weary  of  one  another's 
company  when  they  are  always  together." 

"Granted,"  I  said,  with  some  bitterness,  "when  they 
have  no  higher  employment  than  commonplace  compli- 
ments and  flatteries, — discussions  of  this  party,  and  that 
supper,  and  the  thousand  and  one  follies  of  fashionable 
life ;  but  with  books,  and  music,  and  rational  conversa- 
tion, one  friend  is  better  company  than  twenty." 

"Pardon  me,  dear  Nannie,"  he  said,  gently,  for  he 
could  not  but  see  that  I  was  a  little  hurt;  "I  am  sure  we 
will  agree  perfectly  upon  this  subject  when  the  proper  time 
comes ;  for  my  great  desire  will  be  to  secure  your  happi- 
ness. ' '  But,  knowing  how  fascinated  he  is  with  this  gay  life, 
I  greatly  fear  that  he  never  will  be  content  far  removed 


!88  BEECHWOOD. 

from  it.  And  I — what  could  I  do,  in  a  constant  whirl  of 
excitement  ?  At  would  wear  me  out  in  six  months ;  and, 
besides,  I_d_o  not  love  jtJ  My  life  has  been  so  quiet  and 
happy  in  my  girlhood's  home,  and  mamma  has  so  unfail- 
ingly taught  us  to  look  for  enjoyment  and  happiness  in  the 
higher  pursuits  of  intellect  and  soul,  that  I  shrink  from 
this  fashionable  life,  whose  pursuits  seem  no  higher  than 
those  of  the  butterfly, — pleasure  for  the  present  hour.  But, 
then,  if  Hal  will  only  at  first  allow  me  to  try  my  own  plan, 
I  shall  make  our  home  so  charming,  that  if  he  loves  me,  as 
I  cannot  doubt  he  does,  he  will  soon  forget  to  look  else- 
where for  happiness.  Oh,  I  know  that  I  could  make  his 
home  very  bright  and  beautiful  for  him,  and  so  make  his 
wishes,  in  all  things,  my  own,  that  the  hours  would  all  be 
golden-hued.  j.^  v. 

May  1 6.  A  little  note  from  Salliejsays  the  presence  of 
friends  will  delay  her  coming  for  a  few  days,  but  she  hopes 
soon  to  be  with  us.  Well,  it  is  all  very  well ;  for  Aunt 
Katie  came  yesterday,  with  dear  little  Blanche  and  Harry. 
Uncle  Harry  is  to  come  for  her  at  the  end  of  their  visit. 
We  have  not  seen  Aunt  Katie  for  so  long,  that  it  is  a  privi- 
lege to  be  able  to  give  her  all  of  our  time,  undivided  by 
other  guests.  Litfle  Blanche,  who  is  two  years  old,  is 
growing  marvelously  like  our  lost  Kittie,  and  of  course  is 
a  universal  pet.  She  takes  wonderfully  to  Ralph,  and  he 
is  never  weary  of  romping  with  her  and  carrying  her  when 
he  is  at  home.  Harry  is  a  sturdy  little  fellow  of  four  years, 
and  he  astonishes  us  all  with  his  quaint  remarks  and  unan- 
swerable questions.  To-day  he  came  to  mamma  as  she  sat 
sewing,  and  said, — 

"Aunt  Fannie,  may  Harry  have  your  scissors  to  play 
with,  a  little  while?" 

"They  are  so  sharp,   Harry,  auntie   is  afraid  you  will 
.  fall  down  with  them,  and  they  might  run  into  your  eyes." 


BEECHWOOD. 


189 


He  stood  thoughtfully  for  a  few  moments  at  her  knee, 
as  though  trying  to  solve  some  great  problem  in  his  little 
brain,  and  then  said,  quietly, — 

"Aunt  Fannie,  have  they  feet?" 

"Have  what  feet,  Harry?" 

"The  scissors." 

"Why,  no,  you  funny  little  boy,"  said  mamma,  laugh- 
ing. 

"Then,"  with  a  look  of  wonderment  in  his  great  black 
eyes,  "how  can  they  run  into  my  eyes?"  And  when  his 
question  was  met  by  a  shout  of  merriment  from  all  the 
party,  he  turned  away,  half  indignantly,  and  said, — 

"  How  can  they  run,  I'd  like  to  know,  if  they  haven't 
any  feet?" 

And  yesterday,  when  I  said  to  him,  "Look,  look, 
Harry,  at  the  little  bird  in  the  cedar-tree,"  he  gravely 
asked, — 

"  Do  "you  call  it  ced-ar,  Cousin  Nannie,  because  it  is  so 
full  ri seeds?" 

In  the  same  manner  he  is  constantly  playing  upon  words 
unconsciously,  much  to  our  delight  and  to  Aunt  Katie's 
annoyance,  who  says  she  is  terribly  afraid  he  will  be  a 
natural  wag,  a  character  she  cannot  endure.  But  he  is  a 
noble  boy;  his  little  heart  is  full  of  generous  impulses,  and 
his  hand  is  ever  open  to  the  needy.  I  have  often  seen  him 
unhesitatingly  give  all  the  pennies  he  possessed  to  some 
poor  child,  and  then  hasten  to  bring  forth  his  most  cher- 
ished toys  to  bestow  those  likewise. 

Lizzie  Weir  came  with  the  children,  and  has  improved 
wonderfully  since  she  went  to  live  with  Aunt  Katie.  She 
is  really  now  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  her  manners  are  always 
gentle  and  pleasant.  The  children  love  her  dearly.  Aunt 
Katie  says  she  is  a  great  help  to  her,  and  they  are  all  much 
attached  to  her.  Joseph  seems  to  share  in  the  general 


190 


BEECHWOOD. 


opinion  that  she  is  a  very  nice  girl,  for  he  never  loses  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  with  her,  when  she  is  out  with  the 
children.  I  said  to  her  to-day,  a  little  teasingly, — 

"You  and  Joseph  seem  to  be  great  friends,  Lizzie." 

"  Joseph  was  very  kind  to  me,  miss,  when  I  was  most 
friendless;  I  should  be  very  ungrateful  to  forget  him,"  she 
answered,  so  modestly  and  honestly  that  my  mirth  was 
disarmed,  and  I  answered  her  at  once, — 
'  "  That  is  right,  Lizzie;  always  hold  fast  to  one  who  has 
proved  himself  your  friend.  Joseph  is  a  nice  boy,  and 
merits  your  good  opinion." 

"  Thank  you,  miss :  I  certainly  never  can  forget  any  one 
who  was  so  kind  to  me  as  you  all  were  at  Beech  wood  when 
poor  granny  died."  And  the  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes  at 
the  remembrance  of  the  dear  old  friend  she  had  lost. 

"  If  Mrs.  Hall  can  spare  me,  I  should  like  to  go  to 
granny's  grave  once,  and  set  out  a  rose-bush  that  Joseph 
brought  to  me  this  morning  from  the  village." 

"  I  will  take  the  children  out  to  walk  with  me  this  morn- 
ing, Lizzie,  and  you  can  go  at  once.  I  am  sure  your  love 
for  your  old  granny  is  beautiful  and  right." 

"She  was  always  good  and  kind  to  me,  miss,  and  I 
could  not  bear  to  see  her  grave  neglected.  She  was  all  I 
had  to  love  me." 

"  Joseph  shall  take  care  of  her  grave,  Lizzie,  and  see 
that  it  is  never  neglected,"  I  said,  wishing  to  comfort  her. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  miss.  He  promised  to-day  that  he 
would  look  after  it  a  little  in  his  leisure." 

So  Gertie  and  I  went  out  with  the  little  ones,  and  left 
Lizzie  at  liberty  to  go  to  the  churchyard,  gaining  mamma's 
permission  for  Joseph  to  accompany  her,  and  giving  her 
several  roots  and  flowers  from  our  own  stock,  with  which 
to  beautify  the  grave  of  her  grandmother.  She  came  back, 
looking  sad,  but  happy,  and  told  me,  shyly,  that  she  had 


BEECHWOOD. 


191 


promised  Joseph  to  wait  for  him  till  he  was  ready  to  marry, 
which  will  probably  be  several  years  yet,  as  both  are  very 
young. 

So  it  is  in  all  conditions  of  life,  congenial  hearts  seek 
and  know  each  other ;  why  not  as  well  among  those  in  the 
humbler  walks  of  life,  as  among  those  who  tread  only  upon 
velvet  and  flowers  ?  I  think  Joseph  and  Lizzie  well  adapted 
for  each  other,  and  I  doubt  not  that  they  will  be  fully  as 
happy,  in  their  humble  way,  as  many  who  are  grander  and 
more  ostentatious. 

June  1 2.  Aunt  Katie  returned  home  yesterday,  with  her 
husband  and  the  dear  little  ones,  and  the  house  seems  very 
lonely  again  without  them.  Uncle  Harry  was  here  but  a 
few  days,  it  is  so  difficult  for  him  to  leave  his  business  long. 
He  is  perfectly  wrapped  up  in  his  wife  and  little  ones; 
thinks  little  Harry  is  the  greatest  boy  alive.  He  laughed 
heartily  when  I  related  to  him  his  dialogue  with  mamma 
about  the  scissors,  and  said  it  reminded  him  of  a  similar 
answer  once  at  the  table.  Harry  was  playing  with  his 
bread-and-milk,  and  his  papa  said  to  him,  "Be  careful, 
Harry;  you  will  make  your  milk  fly  all  over  the  table." 
He  looked  up  a  moment  in  surprise,  and  then  said,  "No, 
papa  !  How  can  it  fly?  It  has  no  wings  !" 

Lizzie  went  away  very  bright  and  happy,  and  I  hear 
Joseph  singing  about  his  work  all  day.  Truly  love  lightens 
labor.  How  sweet  it  must  be  to  toil  for  those  we  love  !  I 
sometimes  wish  Hal  was  poor.  I  believe  it  would  be  better 
for  both  of  us,  at  first,  if  he  was.  Better  for  him,  by  giving 
him  a  new  incentive  for  exertion;  better  for  me,  by  giving 
me  something  useful  to  do  for  others,  which  I  could  not  set  - 
aside  at  pleasure,  as  now,  and  so  leaving  me  less  time  for 
thinking  of  the  dear  ones  at  home,  when  I  leave  them.  He 
and  Nettie  both  have  property  from  their  mother's  family 
that  will  keep  them  well  of  itself;  hence  Hal,  I  fear,  may 


192 


BEECHWOOD. 


sometimes  fail  to  exert  the  energy  in  his  profession  that  he 
otherwise  would ;  although  he  says  it  shall  never  make  any 
difference  in  his  life.  Such  things  often  influence  us  un- 
awares. He  and  Charlie  will  soon  come  now  for  the  sum- 
mer holidays.  I  am  impatient  for  the  days  to  pass.  I 
have  indirectly  heard  that  Sallie  Reve  is  going  to  Newport 
with  a  party  of  friends,  so  that,  although  she  has  not  written 
to  say  so,  I  shall  not  look  for  her  before  fall.  I  am  selfish 
enough  to  be  glad  that  we  shall  have  only  the  home  ones 
for  awhile,  much  as  I  am  sure  I  shall  enjoy  Sallie's  visit 
when  she  comes. 

Later.  At  this  point  Gertie  came  into  the  room,  bring- 
ing me  a  letter  from  Hal.  It  reads, — 

"  MY  DARLING, — There  is  no  hour  more  sacred  to  me 
than  that  in  which  I  sit  alone  in  the  twilight  and  hold  thus 
converse  with  yourself.  I  then  feel  that  you  are  in  bodily 
presence  beside  me.  I  can  almost  touch  you  with  my  hand, 
and,  bending,  look  into  the  dear  eyes  that  have  learned  to 
tell  me  such  precious  truths  from  their  depths.  Ah  !  if  the 
future  has  in  store  for  us  one-half  the  happiness  of  which  I 
dream,  there  is  no  use  to  talk  to  me  of  a  future  Paradise, 
for  I  shall  have  it  upon  earth.  The  months  are  slipping 
away  into  eternity,  and  but  five  yet  remain  to  complete 
our  probation.  Do  you,  my  Nannie,  count  them  and 
look  forward  to  their  fulfillment  with  the  same  restless  long- 
ing I  feel  ?  I  would  they  were  now  complete.  I  shall 
feel  safer  when  you  are  beside  me,  in  this  strange  labyrinth 
of  pleasure,  wherein  are  so  many  siren  voices ;  for  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  my  good  angel  and  guide  me  aright.  I 
sometimes  weary,  as  to-night,  of  this  maddening  whirl  of 
pleasure,  but  it  seems  impossible  for  me  to  resist  its  tide. 
Do  not  think  unkindly  of  me,  dear,  if  you  hear  I  have 
been  very  gay ;  I  am  naturally  susceptible  to  pleasure,  and 


BEECHWOOD. 


193 


its  sirens  do  so  entice  me.  Charlie,  dear,  prudent  Charlie, 
warned  me  yesterday  that  my  name  was  already  coupled 
with  that  of  a  young  lady  of  this  city,  and  that  in  some 
circles  -it  was  confidently  asserted  we  were  soon  to  be 
wedded.  You  know  its  falsity,  and  will  believe  me  when 
I  say  that,  whatever  I  may  seem  to  others,'!  am  true  to  my 
first  and  only  love/  I  regret  this  report,  for  the  young  lady's 
sake,  but  am  sure  I  have  only  paid  her  the  attentions  of  a 
friend.  My  conscience  would  not  let  you  hear  this  from 
any  pen  but  mine.  I  fear  Charlie  thinks  me  imprudent ; 
but  he  is  so  unimpressible,  how  can  he  understand  my 
temptations?  I  am  writing  you  a  strange  letter,  I  am 
conscious  of  it ;  but  I  hope  so  soon  to  see  you,  and  talk 
with  you  face  to  face,  that  I  _will  not  try  to  apologize  for  it 
till  then.  You  know  I  love  you,  my  darling,  and,  knowing 
this,  I  feel  that  you  will  trust  me. 

"I  expected  to  have  seen  you  at  Beechwood  next  week, 
but  a  party  of  friends  have  persuaded  me,  much  against 
my  inclination,  to  join  them  in  a  little  excursion,  to  end 
at  Newport,  so  that  my  visit  will  necessarily  be  for  a  little 
time  delayed ;  but  only  for  a  little  time.  What  pleasure 
could  be  sufficiently  enticing  to  keep  me  long  from  my 
darling  ?  I  will  leave  them  as  soon  as  they  arrive  at  New- 
port, and  fly  to  your  presence.  Till  that  envied  time,  be- 
lieve me  to  be  ever,  as  in  the  past, 

"  Yours  devotedly,  HAL." 

Twice  I  read  the  letter  through  without  pause  or  com- 
ment, and  then  I  sat  with  my  hands  idly  folded  upon  my 
lap,  dreaming,  till  Gertie,  who  sat  reading  by  me,  said, — 
"What  is  it,  sister?     No  unpleasant  word,  I  hope." 
Her  voice  sounded  strange  and  distant  to  me,  so  com- 
pletely was  I  absorbed  in  my  own  thoughts,  but  it  aroused 
me,  and  I  answered, — 

17* 


I94  BEECHWOOD. 

j  "No,  oh!  no;"  for  I  could  not  distress  her  with  my 
vague  fears.  "  Let  us  go  upon  the  terrace.  The  air  seems 
close  and  oppressive;  I  fear  a  storm  is  brewing." 

So  we  stepped  from  our  room  window  upon  the  long 
terrace,  and  walked  backward  and  forward,  with  arms  en- 
twined, for  half  an  hour  or  more.  There  certainly  were 
indications  of  a  storm.  The  air  was  close  and  warm  ;  the 
heavy  clouds  hung  so  low  in  the  west  that  they  hid  the 
tops  of  the  distant  hills ;  the  wind  sobbed  through  the  tall 
trees  of  the  grove,  and  the  sullen  moan  of  the  distant 
Atlantic  broke  upon  our  ears  through  the  stillness — for 
night  was  already  falling — like  the  sob  of  some  great  spirit 
in  agony. 

"Let  us  go  in,"  said  Gertie,  at  last;  " these  wind-sounds 
are  appalling."  But  they  suited  my  mood,  and  I  replied, — 
•-f,'  Wait  a  little  yet,  Gertie ;  it  attracts  me  to-night.  It 
eminds  me  of  a  fearful  dream  I  had  last  night, — one 
that  Aunt  Martha  would  say  surely  boded  no  good.  You 
know  her  faith  in  dreams,  and  one  of  her  worst  signs  is 
dark,  troubled  water.  She  says  it  never  fails  to  bring 
either  trouble  or  death.  For  my  part,  I  have  but  little 
faith  in  such  unpleasant  prophecies,  but  nevertheless  I  do 
not  fancy  the  dream." 
/  "What  did  you  dream,  Nannie?"  said  Gertie. 

"Do  you  really  wish  to  hear  it?  Well,  we  will  turn 
old  women  for  once,  and  tell  our  dreams.  I  thought  I  was 
out  upon  the  ocean,  with  just  such  a  wrathful  sky  as  this 
above  us,  and  dark  turbid  waves  rolling  angrily  beneath.  I, 
was  in  a  frail  little  boat,  and  Hal  was  with  me.  The  tem- 
pest broke  above  us,  and  we  knew  that  our  little  bark  must 
perish.  'Cling  to  me,  dear  Nannie,'  Hal  had  whispered, 
'and  I  will  save  you.'  But  just  then  arose  from  the  midst 
of  the  waters  a  beautiful  siren,  her  long  tresses  drip- 
ping with  the  sea-foam,  her  face  that  of  an  angel,  and 


BEECHWOOD.  I95 

her  soft  eyes,  radiant  and  beautiful,  fixed  upon  Hal.  She 
stretched  her  delicate  white  hands,  bedecked  with  costly 
jewels,  toward  him,  and  in  a  voice  sweet  as  the  sighing  of 
an  aeolian  harp,  yet  which  made  itself  distinctly  heard 
above  the  tempest,  sang, — 

1  Come  down  to  my  beautiful  home  in  the  sea ; 
I  have  deck'd  it  with  coral  and  sea-weed  for  thee ; 
And  the  purest  of  pearls,  and  soft-tinted  shells, 
Are  found  in  the  cave  where  the  mermaid  dwells. 
Come,  come,  come,  come,  down  into  the  deep  with  me ! 
Come,  come,  come,  come !  'tis  the  mermaid  calls  to  thee.' 

^."'Oh,  do  not  look  at  her,'  I  cried;  'Hal,  dear  Hal, 
hear  me.  Turn  your  eyes  away  from  her  ;  listen  only  to 
me,  your  Nannie  !'  But  he  had  heart  and  ear  only  for  the 
wonderfully  witching  strain  ;  and  though  I  tried  to  hold 
him  back,  as  the  boat  tossed  onward  toward  the  beautiful 
enchantress,  he  freed  himself  from  my  grasp,  and  sprang 
into  her  outstretched  arms,  just  as  our  tiny  boat  was  dashed 
to  atoms  by  the  waves.  Once  he  turned,  and  looked  wist- 
fully back  at  me,  then  vanished  from  my  sight  forever ; 
and  the  cold  dark  waves  engulfed  me,  closed  above  me,  and 
I  sank  down, — down, — until  a  strong  hand  seemed  to 
seize  me  in  the  midst  of  the  waters,  and  drew  me  rapidly 
upward  into  a  world  full  of  sunlight,  and  flowers,  and  all 
beautiful  things;  and  when  I  turned  to  thank  my  preserver, 
lo,  it  was  Uncle  Ralph  !  and  with  a  glad  cry  I  awoke." 

"Ah!"  said  Gertie,  drawing  a  sigh  of  relief,  "your 
dream  had  a  good  ending,  after  all ;  though  it  must  have 
been  terrible." 

"It  was.  But  see,  the  wind  has  increased  into  a  gale, 
and  the  heavy  clouds  are  drifting  seaward ;  may  God  be 
merciful  to  the  poor  mariner  to-night.  Let  us  enter."  And 
we  came  within,  and  closed  the  casement ;  and  now,  while 
I  write,  the  storm  is  beating  furiously  against  the  shutters, 


196 


BEECHWOOD. 


and  the  loud  wail  of  the  wind  mingles  with  the  sullen  roar 
of  the  sea.  Gertie  is  trying  to  forget  it  in  an  interesting 
book,  and  I, — I  am  thinking  of  Hal's  letter,  so  unlike  his 
usual  style,  and  wondering  what  can  have  produced  the 
change.  There  seems  to  be  something  back  of  all  he  has 
written,  that  he  evidently  fears  will  not  please  me ;  and  a 
certain  constraint  pervades  his  whole  letter,  that  I  have 
never  noticed  in  any  of  them  before.  It  leaves  me  restless 
and  uneasy.  And  for  all  I  laugh  with  Gertie  at  my  dream, 
it  has  left  its  impress.  I  cannot  shake  off  a  certain  uneasy 
feeling  that  trouble  awaits  me  ;  in  what  shape  I  know  not, 
but  pray  it  may  not  be  with  Hal.  Those  dark  waves  haunt 
me ;  and  the  remembrance  of  his  dear  face  sinking  from 
my  view,  blended  with  that  of  the  beautiful  siren,  is  dread- 
ful. Oh,  Hal !  only  be  true  to  your  own  noble  nature  knd 
our  love,  and  I  fear  for  nothing.  To  the  report  of  which 
he  speaks,  I  attach  no  importance,  for  I  rely  implicitly 
upon  his  truth,  and  he  tells  me  expressly  that  he  is  un- 
changed. I  suspect  his  trip  to  Newport  is  all  of  Sallie's 
planning;  but  if  he  only  comes  soon,  I  have  no  wish  to 
deprive  him  of  so  innocent  a  pleasure.  I  mean,  at  any 
rate,  to  think  and  believe  that  all  is  right,  until  he  himself 
tells  me  to  the  contrary.  Charlie  could  explain  all  the 
hidden  meaning  of  Hal's  letter,  when  he  comes,  I  am  sure; 
but  I  would  not  wrong  him  by  going  to  another  for  inform- 
ation concerning  him,  even  though  that  other  were  precious 
Charlie.  I  must  be  patient  till  he  arrives;  and  I  am  deter- 
mined, come  what  will,  that  the  "green-eyed  monster" 
shall  never  find  entrance  to  my  heart.  If  I  cannot  e;  joy 
love  unmixed  with  that  passion,  I  will  have  none  of  it  /for 
of  all  the  passions  jealousy  is  surely  the  worst  and  the 

most  inexcusable! 
v 

June  20.     A  dainty  little  note  from  Sallie  to-day,  dated 
at  Newport,  reads, — 


BEECHWOOD.  !97 

"  DEAR  NANNIE, — It  is  too  bad  that  my  visit  to  your 
charming  home  has  been  so  long  delayed  ;  but  circum- 
stances, which  you  know  we  cannot  always  control,  have 
rendered  it  heretofore  impracticable,  not  to  say  impossible, 
for  me  to  go  to  you.  Mollie  Desmonde,  who,  you  remem- 
ber, was  to  visit  Nettie  Ray  when  I  visited  you,  has  about 
concluded  to  go  there  from  here,  and  I  shall  therefore 
forego  the  pleasures  of  a  gay  season  at  Newport  for  a  quiet 
sojourn  at  Beechwood,  of  whose  enchantments  I  have  heard 
so  much.  See  how  well  I  love  you  ! 

"Dr.  Ray,  who  forms  one  of  our  party,  which  is  quite 
large,  talks  of  himself  going  soon,  in  which  case  we  will 
probably  take  advantage  of  the  fact  and  secure  him  for  an 
escort.  I  will  drop  you  a  line  when  we  settle  upon  the  day 
of  departure. 

"In  haste  and  love,  yours  always. 

"SALLIE." 

"  Of  course,"  was  Gertie's  only  answer,  as  she  read  the 
letter,  and  the  only  comment  that  passed  between  us  upon 
the  subject.  Nor  will  I  allow  myself  to  jot  down  a  single 
thought,  for  my  heart  is  full  of  bitterness,  and  I  would 
probably  write  that  which  afterward  I  would  wish  effaced. 

July  i.  A  note  from  Sallie  says  we  may  look  for  them 
to-morrow  ;  and  a  word  from  Hal  excuses  his  delay  by  say- 
ing that  the  youhg  ladies  expressed  a  desire  for  his  escort, 
and  he  was  compelled  to  wait  their  pleasure.  Of  course. 

July  2.  They  have  come.  Sallie,  as  usual,  has  carried 
the  house  by  storm,  everybody,  even  to  Aunt  Martha, 
being  fascinated  with  her.  Hal  is  so  gay,  and  seems  so 
happy  to  be  once  more  at  home,  that  I  already  feel  ashamed 
of  my  suspicions,  and  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  enjoy  and 
make  others  enjoy  their  visit.  Nettie,  Hal,  and  Mollie 
Desmonde  came  over  after  tea,  and  we  spent  a  merry,  happy 


198 


BEECHIVOOD. 


evening  together.  I  write  this  at  a  late  hour  in  the  quiet 
of  my  own  room.  Gertie  being  already  asleep.  We  are 
all  to  go  to  Nettie's  to  dinner  to-morro\v,  and  in  the  even- 
ing have  a  canter  upon  the  ponies. 

Charlie  came  home  more  than  a  week  ago,  and  is  almost 
as  quiet  as  ever.  He  is  as  tall  as  Ralph,  who,  I  believe,  is 
just  six  feet,  but  not  so  broad-shouldered,  and  there  is  a 
striking  contrast  between  the  two.  Ralph  is  so  strong  and 
sturdy-looking ;  his  great  black  eyes  are  ever  so  full  of  fun, 
and  even  his  short  black  curls  have  a  mischievous  fun- 
loving  way  of  tumbling  all  over  his  head,  as  though  they 
were  wholly  unused  to  comb  or  brush;  while  Charlie,  with 
his  light,  close  curls  and  pale,  intellectual  face,  commands 
the  respect  at  once  of  every  one.  He  would  be  taken  for 
the  elder  of  the  two  by  those  who  knew  them  not.  He 
does  not  seem  so  fascinated  by  Sallie  as  in  the  winter, 
although  he  is  ever  kind  and  polite  to  her. 

Nettie  told  me  to-night  that  old  Mr.  White,  whose 
health  has  been  failing  for  some  time,  has  asked  for  an 
assistant  in  Ellis  Ray,  who  has  ever  been  a  favorite  with 
him  ;  and  he,  having  completed  his  studies,  is  soon  to 
come  here  permanently.  He  will  be  a  favorite,  I  prophesy, 
and  well  cared  for;  for  our  parish,  though  small,  is  wealthy, 
and  the  members  are  ever  devoted  to  their  pastor.  The 
only  objection  that  could  possibly  be  urged  by  some  of  the 
older  ones  was  that  he  is  "still  young  and  unmarried," 
to  which  Father  White  gravely  replies  that  "time  will  soon 
remove  the  first  objection,  and  that  he  doubts  not  there  are 
many  ladies  in  the  parish  who  will  gladly  assist  him  in 
overcoming  the  latter." 

July  20.  The  weeks  somehow  wear  away ;  but,  in  spite 
of  my  brave  resolves,  I  am  not  happy.  It  is  the  same  old 
story  of  the  holidays  repeated.  Sallie,  gay,  happy,  and 
apparently  without  any  design,  still  manages  to  stand  ever 


BEECHWOOD.  !9g 

between  Hal  and  myself.  Go  where  we  will,  she  contrives 
to  be  beside  him,  or  in  some  way  or  other  to  attach  him  to 
her  party.  He  may  be  absent  for  hours,  so  long  as  I  am 
with  her,  and  she  is  content ;  but  let  us  be  for  an  instant 
apart,  and  he  is  sure  to  be  in  requisition.  Yet  it  is  all 
done  so  innocently  and  naturally  that  none  but  a  close 
observer  could  accuse  her  of  immodesty  in  her  advances. 
She  would  make  a  most  magnificent  diplomat.  I  think 
that  even  Hal  himself  is  but  half  conscious  of  the  power 
she  exerts  over  him.  I  do  not  believe  he  loves  her ;  but 
she  fascinates  him.  I  am  growing  weary  of  it.  He  must 
decide  between  us,  and  that  shortly.  Monday  we  go  to  the 
beach,  and,  if  it  be  possible,  I  shall  find  a  chance  of  talk- 
ing with  him.  Uncle  Ralph,  I  think,  sees  it  all,  and  I 
know  by  his  restless  manner  it  troubles  him  much,  though 
he  says  nothing.  Contrary  to  his  usual  custom  of  late,  he 
joins  all  of  our  excursions,  and  contrives  to  shield  me  from 
annoyance  all  that  he  can.  He  even  talks  much  with  Sal- 
lie,  as  though  trying  to  afford  Hal  more  time  for  me.  I 
hope  he  does  not  blame  Hal,  although  I  myself  fear  he  is 
too  often  a  willing  captive. 

,\'July  25.  We  went  to  the  beach,  as  proposed,  on  Mon- 
day, day  before  yesterday,  and  it  came  near,  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  having  a  tragical  ending.  It  was  a  beautiful 
day,  only  a  little  windy,  and  we  concluded  not  to  go  upon 
the  water,  but  lunched  in  a  little  grotto  in  the  rock,  and 
gathered  shells  and  pebbles,  and  played,  like  children,  in 
the  beautiful  white  sand  upon  the  beach.  The  day  was 
wearing  away,  and  we  were  beginning  to  talk  of  returning, 
when  I  contrived  to  say  quietly  to  Hal, — 

"I  desire  to  speak  with  you  a  moment  undisturbed.     I 
have  something  I  much  wish  to  say." 

"Shall  we  walk  along  the  beach  a  little  way?"   he  an- 
swered. 


200  BEECHWOOD. 

"No;  we  would  be  too  liable  to  interruption.  I  want 
some  of  the  sea- weed  from  those  rocks,"  pointing  to  a 
cluster  of  rocks  that  jutted  out  rudely  into  the  sea.  "Will 
you  help  me  get  it?" 

"Certainly  I  will;  but,  Nannie,  the  waves^are  high, 
and  the  rocks  are  slippery.  Is  it  not  a  bad  choice?" 

"  No;  I  fear  nothing  but  interruption." 

So  we  started.  Uncle  Ralph  was  talking  with  Sallie, 
and  I  trusted  to  his  skill  in  detaining  her;  yet  I  saw  he 
watched  me  anxiously  as  I  approached  the  shore.  Hal 
held  me  firmly  by  the  hand  as  we  stepped  upon  the  slippery 
rocks,  and  I  began  by  saying, — 

"Hal,  do  you  remember  all  that  mamma  said  to  us  in 
the  library,  nearly  two  years  ago  ?" 

"Perfectly  well,  my  darling."  And  his  hand  closed 
more  tightly  and  tenderly  about  my  own. 

"Well,  the  time  has  come  when  I  think  it  would  be 
better  for  both  of  us " 

Here  a  piercing  scream  from  Sallie  caused  us  to  look 
around,  and  we  heard  her  crying, — 

"Oh,  Dr.  Ray,  Dr.  Ray,  please  catch  my  hat !  It  will 
blow  into  the  sea;  it  surely  will !"  And  she  started,  in  her 
pretty  way,  running  along  the  beach,  after  her  truant  hat, 
which  the  wind  was  rapidly  blowing  and  rolling  along  the 
sand  toward  us.  She  had  been  twirling  it  by  one  string  about 
her  finger,  and,  holding  it  too  lightly,  it  slipped  from  her 
grasp  (Gertie  says  she  threw  it  down  purposely),  and  the 
wind  bore  it  rapidly  away. 

"Stand  perfectly  still,  Nannie  ;  I  will  rejoin  you  in  an 
instant,"  said  Hal,  thus  appealed  to;  and,  springing  lightly 
over  the  rocks,  he  secured  the  hat,  and  handed  it  to  her. 
As  he  did  so,  I  distinctly  heard  her  say, — for  the  wind  was 
blowing  toward  me,  and  I  was  only  a  short  distance  away, 
— "  Please  do  not  go  again  upon  those  slippery  rocks;  for 


BEECHWOOD.  2OI 

my  sake  do  not  go!"  And,  as  she  lifted  her  soft  eyes 
pleadingly  to  his  face,  her  own  seemed  the  counterpart  of 
the  siren's  in  my  dream. 

Bewildered  and  maddened,  I  turned  away,  and,  in  step- 
ping across  a  small  chasm,  my  foot  slipped  upon  the 
treacherous  rock.  I  lost  my  balance  and  fell  into  the  surf, 
which  foamed  and  dashed  about  me.  I  gave  one  scream 
of  terror,  felt  the  cold  waves  close  over  me,  and  then  all 
became  a  blank.  The  next  I  knew,  I  was  lying  upon  the 
beach,  enveloped  in  shawls,  of  which  we  fortunately  had 
brought  a  supply  to  guard  against  the  sea-breeze,  my  head 
in  Gertie's  lap,  and  anxious  faces  bending  above  me, 
prominent  among  them  the  pale  face  of  Uncle  Ralph, 
with  a  fierce  look  upon  it  I  had  never  seen  before.  I 
smiled  faintly  up  to  him,  heard  his  low  and  fervent  "Thank 
God!"  and  then  relapsed  into  forgetfulness. 

Gertie  filled  in  the  broken  links  for  me,  the  next  day. 
She  said  that  Uncle  Ralph  had  already  started  to  go  to  me, 
seeing  my  danger,  when  I  slipped,  and  that  in  an  instant 
his  coat  and  boots  were  off  and  he  had  plunged  in  after 
me.  Just  as  he  reached  the  water,  Hal,  who,  hearing  my 
scream,  had  also  rushed  forward,  crossed  his  path,  when, 
Gertie  said,  he  threw  him  back  fiercely  with  his  arm,  say- 
ing, "  Stand  back,  young  man  !  there  has  been  enough  of 
this  foolery  !"  and  plunged  into  the  surf.  Nor  would  he 
let  any  one  touch  me  but  himself,  till  he  laid  me  down 
tenderly  in  Gertie's  arms.  Then  they  worked  with  me  for 
some  minutes  before  I  showed  any  signs  of  life ;  and  Gertie 
says  she  believes  that  Uncle  Ralph  would  have  knocked 
Hal  down  if  he  had  attempted  to  touch  me.  She  says 
that  Hal  himself  was  very  pale  and  greatly  distressed,  and, 
she  doubts  not,  suffered  terribly  till  I  began  to  revive.  As 
soon  as  possible  they  got  the  horses  to  the  carriages,  and, 
with  my  head  upon  Gertie's  bosom,  we  rode  home.  Mamma 

18 


202  BEECHWOOD. 

had  me  put  into  a  warm  bath  at  once,  then  wrapped  in 
warm  blankets  and  put  to  bed,  where  I  was  plentifully 
dosed  by  Aunt  Martha  with  hot  drinks  till  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awakened,  it  was  growing  dark,  and  mamma  was 
sitting  beside  the  bed.  At  first  I  was  bewildered,  and  knew 
nothing  of  all  that  had  passed,  but  gradually  it  came  back 
to  me  little  by  little,  and  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  my 
near  approach  to  death,  and  that  too  with  my  heart  full  of 
bitter  feelings  toward  another. 

"Who  saved  me,  mamma?"  I  asked,  half  hoping  that 
she  would  answer,  "Hal."  In  that  case  I  could  forgive 
him  everything. 

"Uncle  Ralph." 

I  started.  Another  coincidence  with  my  dream ;  only 
he  had  brought  me  back  into  a  world  of  shadows,  instead 
of  sunlight  and  flowers. 

"  Is  he  in  the  house,  mamma?" 

"Yes.  We  insisted  that  he  should  remain  all  night; 
he  seemed  so  anxious  lest  you  should  be  seriously  ill  after 
the  shock.  The  young  ladies  both  remain  at  Nettie's  to- 
night." 

"  May  I  see  Uncle  Ralph,  mamma?" 

"  Not  to-night,  love  :  quiet  is  indispensable  for  you." 

"  I  will  not  talk,  mamma;  only  please  let  me  see  him." 

"Early  in  the  morning,  dear,  if  you  are  no  worse." 

I  lay  quiet  for  several  minutes,  and  then  said, — 

"Dear  mamma,  indeed,  indeed  I  cannot  sleep  unless 
you  grant  my  request.  You  may  stand  right  there,  and  I 
promise  you  I  will  not  speak  more  than  a  dozen  words,  nor 
detain  him  five  minutes.  He  saved  my  life,  mamma ;  do 
not  deny  me." 

She  looked  a  moment  at  my  face,  which  I  know  was 
flushed  and  feverish,  and  without  further  words  arose, 
smoothed  my  hair  and  my  pillow,  arranged  the  bed  a  little, 


BEECHWOOD.  2O;J 

and  went  down-stairs.  After  a  short  delay,  during  which  I 
lay  in  a  half-dreamy  state,  she  re-entered  the  room,  which 
was  growing  dim  in  the  twilight,  with  a  tall,  dark  form  be- 
side her,  and  approaching  the  bed,  said,  softly,  "Nannie, 
here  is  Uncle  Ralph,"  and  then  stepped  to  the  table  to 
adjust  it  and  ring  for  a  light. 

Uncle  Ralph  bent  over  me  for  a  moment,  with  a  wistful 
look  in  his  dear  face,  and  said,  tenderly  as  a  woman, — 

"Are  you  better,  dear?" 

A  strange,  overwhelming  feeling  of  love  and  gratitude 
rushed  over  me.  I  disengaged  my  arms  from  the  covers, 
and  putting  them,  in  my  old  child-fashion,  about  his  neck, 
drew  his  dear  face  down  against. my  own,  and  whispered, 
with  a  tearful  voice,  "  May  God  bless  you  forever  !"  then 
hid  my  face  in  the  pillows  and  sobbed  like  a  very  child. 

"  Don't,  darling,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  distress,  smooth- 
ing my  hair  with  his  hand  as  he  spoke ;  "  don't  do  so  ;  it 
will  surely  make  you  ill."  Then,  in  a  moment,  "It  was 
God's  great  mercy  that  gave  you  back  to  us,  not  my 
strength.  Think  no  more  of  it  to-night ;  to-morrow  you 
will  be  stronger."  And,  stooping  over,  he  kissed  my  hair, 
that  he  had  been  so  tenderly  smoothing,  and  went  from 
the  room. 

Mamma  gave  me  some  tiny  little  pellets  upon  my  tongue, 
and  in  a  little  while  I  dropped  asleep.  But  I  was  restless 
all  night,  and  awakened  the  next  morning  with  a  dull 
throbbing  in  my  head  and  a  feverish  aching  all  through 
my  frame.  I  did  not  try  to  get  up  all  day,  but  lay  in  a 
half-dreaming  state  till  evening.  I  rested  better  last  night, 
and  to-day  feel  pretty  well,  only  very  weak  and  listless. 

Sallie  is  still  at  Nettie's,  and  will  probably  not  return 
before  to-morrow.  I  will  go  out  upon  the  terrace ;  the 
air  may  refresh  me.  Gertie  left  me,  apparently  sleeping, 
half  an  hour  ago :  so  I  will  steal  a  little  time  for  reflection  ; 


204 


BEECHWOOD. 


I  need  it  for  the  future.  Hal  has  twice  called  to  ask  after 
me,  and  this  morning  sent  me  an  exquisite  bouquet.  I  am 
restless  and  irresolute,  but  feel  that,  in  justice  to  us  both, 
I  must  remind  him  that  our  engagement  is  only  nominal, 
and  trust  the  rest  to  chance,  or,  as  mamma  would  say,  to  an 
overruling  Providence. 

|  v~An  hour  later.  After  writing  the  above,  I  stepped  from 
my  low  window  upon  the  terrace,  and  essayed  to  walk,  but 
found  my  limbs  still  trembled  beneath  me :  so  I  walked 
slowly  to  some  chairs  that  stood  near  the  other  end  of  the 
terrace,  and  sat  down.  The  air  was  soft  and  balmy,  for 
there  had  been  a  shower  early  in  the  day,  and  the  flowers 
looked  bright  and  fresh  upon  the  lawn.  I  was  already  be- 
ginning to  feel  better,  when  some  one  entered  Sallie's 
room,  near  whose  open  window  I  was  sitting,  and,  supposing 
it  was  Gertie,  and  that  she  would  come  at  once  upon  the 
terrace  in  search  of  me,  I  sat  still.  But  in  an  instant  I 
caught  Sallie's  voice,  in  a  vehement  undertone,  saying, — 

"  No;  it  is  not  wrong  !  I  did  not  know  of  their  engage- 
ment until  I  had  already  learned  to  love  him ;  and  now  the 
battle  is  between  us  ;  let  her  win  who  may  !" 

"But,"  said  a  soft  voice,  that  I  instantly  recognized  as 
Mollie's,  "it  will  nearly  kill  poor  Nannie;  she  has  loved 
him  so  long." 

"  Bah  !"  was  the  retort :  "she  was  nothing  but  a  child 
when  they  entered  into  the  engagement.  How  could  he 
expect  to  win  from  a  child's  heart  a  woman's  love  ?  Believe 
me,  she  has  never  learned  the  passion. _  j 

My  blood  was  aflame,  but  I  was  so  bewildered  and 
astounded  that  I  knew  not  at  the  moment  what  course  to 
pursue.  They  had  stopped,  evidently,  at  a  table  a  few 
paces  from  the  open  window ;  and  while  I  remained  where 
I  was,  it  was  impossible  for  me  not  to  hear  every  word ; 
nor  could  I  pass  the  long  window,  had  I  so  desired,  with- 


BEECHWOOD.  2O5 

out  detection.  I  had  no  time  for  thought  ere  Mollie 
resumed: — 

"But  this  is  a  desperate  game,  Sallie,  and  your  own 
conscience  can  tell  you  if  it  is  right.  Has  Dr.  Ray  ever 
given  you  reason  to  believe  he  loves  you?" 

"  My  conscience  never  troubles  me,  where  my  will  is  in- 
volved. As  for  Dr.  Ray,  although  he  has  never  expressly 
said  in  words  that  he  loves  me,  every  glance  assures  me 
of  it ;  and  but  for  this  hateful  engagement,  which  I  am  sure 
he  regrets  with  his  whole  heart,  I  should  not  fear  for  the 
result.  Were  he  only  free,  I  should  not  have  to  resort 
to  'these  unmaidenly  wiles,'  as  you  are  pleased  to  term 
them,  to  win  him." 

I  arose  from  my  chair,  and,  with  the  blood  bounding 
through  every  vein,  I  stepped  to  the  open  window,  and,  in 
a  calm,  distinct  voice,  said, — 

"  He  shall  be  free  to-night !" 

And,  before  either  could  reply,  I  swept  away  into  my 
own  room,  leaving  them  with  an  appalled  look  upon  their 
faces,  as  though  they  had  seen  a  spectre. 

Without  a  moment's  delay,  or  an  instant's  yielding  to 
the  strange  throbbing  at  my  heart  or  the  choking  sensa- 
tion in  my  throat,  I  wrote  a  note  to  Hal,  asking  his  pres- 
ence in  the  library  as  soon  as  convenient  to  himself,  and, 
ringing  for  Annie,  dispatched  it  by  Joseph,  with  the  re- 
quest to  give  it  to  no  one  but  Dr.  Ray  himself;  and  then  I 
sent  for  Gertie.  I  told  her  nothing,  only  that  I  had  sent 
for  Hal,  and  that  when  he  came  he  was  to  be  shown  into 
the  library,  and  that  on  no  condition  were  we  to  be  dis- 
turbed ;  I  should  brook  no  interference  to-day.  And  now 
I  shall  go  down  and  await  his  coming.  May  God  help  me  ! 

It  is  past ;  and  in  the  solitude  of  my  own  chamber"!  may 
look  back  upon  what  I  have  done.  My  brain  reels;  my 

1 8* 


206  BEECHWOOD. 

blood  is  like  ice  ;  I  must  do  something  to  relieve  my  heart, 
or  it  will  burst  beneath  its  burden.  What  better  can  I  do, 
old  friend,  than  fly  to  you,  as  I  have  for  so  long  done,  in 
joy  or  in  sorrow  ?  And  if  my  narrative  is  unintelligible  or 
disconnected,  who  will  have  more  forbearance  or  compas- 
sion than  yourself? 

I  made  my  way  to  the  library  without  meeting  any  one 
but  Gertie,  and  waited  but  a  little  while  before  Hal  came. 
He  advanced  at  once  to  meet  me,  taking  both  my  hands 
in  his,  and  saying,  — 

"What  is  it,  dear  Nannie?  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you 
better.  But  are  you  really  better?  Your  hands  are  like 


I  might  have  answered  him  that  I  felt  as  though  my  blood 
was  frozen  ;  but  I  would  permit  myself  no  words  but  to  the 
point  in  question.  So  I  said,  briefly,  freeing  my  hands  from 
his  grasp,  — 

"I  am  quite  well,  and  only  wish  to  say  to  you  that  I  do 
not  desire  you  should  forget  that  our  engagement  has  been 
but  nominal  ;  and  whatever  in  it  you  may  have  considered 
binding  upon  yourself  I  willingly  free  you  from,  at  this 
moment." 

He  looked  for  a  moment  bewildered,  and  then  said, 
slowly,  — 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  understand  that  you  desire  our 
present  engagement  to  exist  no  longer?" 

"I  do." 

"For  what  reason,  Nannie?  Do  you  no  longer  love  me?" 

"I  deny  your  right  to  question  me.  I  sent  for  you 
simply  to  give  you  back  your  freedom  ;  it  may  carry  you 
to  whom  it  will." 

"  It  will  surely  return  me  at  once  to  yourself." 

My*heart  gave  a  great,  glad  throb  ;  but  in  a  moment 
the  dull  pain  returned,  and  I  answered,  firmly,  — 


BEECHWOOD.  2Qj 

"Never!" 

"  Nannie,  what  does  all  this  mean?  You  surely  are  not 
jealous?  Sallie  is  gay  and  innocent,  and  attracts  every  one; 
but  I  am  sure  she  would  be  appalled  at  the  thought  of  caus- 
ing you  a  moment's  suffering.  She  loves  you  tenderly." 

I  thought  of  the  conversation  I  had  heard  that  evening, 
and  my  heart  swelled  indignantly  that  he  should  defend  her. 
Jealous  !  My  soul  revolted  at  the  word.  After  all  that  I 
had  borne  in  silence,  to  have  that  hateful  word  tossed  at  me 
thus  !  I  arose  and  confronted  him,  and  for  the  moment  every 
atom  of  love  was  crushed  from  my  heart.  I  saw  only  the 
beautiful  face  of  the  temptress,  remembered  only  that  he 
had  no  power  to  resist  her  fascinations,  and  said,  bitterly, — 

"  No,  Hal,  not  jealous  !  But  the  chain  irks  me.  I  will 
be  free  !  There  are  no  longer  flowers  to  hide  it,  nor  silken 
cords  to  bind  it.  If  you  will  not  accept  your  freedom,  I 
must  demand  my  own." 

He  became  deadly  pale,  arose,  bowed,  and  said,  bitterly, 
in  return,  "  I  have  no  alternative  but  to  bend  to  your  will," 
then  crossed  the  room  to  the  door.  There  he  stopped,  and, 
looking  at  me  wistfully  a  moment,  said, — 

"Is  this  final,  Nannie?  May  I  not  hope  that  you  will 
grant  me  another  interview  to-morrow  ?" 

"It  is  final,  and  irrevocable  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,"  I  said,  firmly;  and  he  withdrew.  // 

When  he  had  gone,  I  felt  as  though  I  was  transformed  to 
stone.  Every  faculty  seemed  to  have  left  me,  and  I  stood  ^ 
as  though  transfixed,  my  blood  stagnant  and  cold.  It  could 
have  been  but  an  instant  that  I  had  thus  stood,  when  he  re- 
opened the  door,  crossed  the  room  to  me,  and,  tenderly 
folding  me  in  his  arms,  kissed  my  eyes,  my  lips,  my  fore- 
head, and,  murmuring,  "  God  bless  you,  my  darling,  for- 
ever!" again  left  the  room,  to  return  no  more.  I  had 
neither  moved  voluntarily  nor  spoken  when  he.  returned, 


208  BEECHWOOD. 

and  Gertie,  seeing  him  depart,  came  instantly  to  me.  I 
still  stood  motionless  where  he  had  left  me,  and  when 
she  proposed  that  I  should  go  at  once  to  my  room,  I  me- 
chanically obeyed  ;  but  when  she  would  have  prevailed 
upon  me  to  lie  down,  I  said, — 

"  No,  dear  Gertie,  only  let  me  be  this  one  night  alone, 
shield  me  from  observation  and  intrusion,  and  I  shall  bless 
you  forever." 

"Oh,  Nannie,"  she  replied,  half  tearfully,  "do  not  send 
me  from  you  for  the  night.  Let  me  come  to  you  when  there 
is  no  longer  fear  of  intrusion." 

"  No,  my  darling;  for  once  hear  me, — I  must\>Q  alone." 
And,  with  a  fond  and  loving  caress,  she  left  me. 

I  bolted  the  door  behind  her,  and  for  hours  walked  the 
floor,  bewildered  and  sorrowful,  but  tearless,  thinking,  think- 
ing. In  that  brief  space  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  lived 
over  every  hour  that  I  had  ever  spent  with  Hal.  A  fire 
consumed  my  heart  and  brain,  until  some  tender  memory  at 
last  unloosed  "the  flood.-gates  of  my  soul,"  and  I  wept 
long  and  bitterly.  I  thank  God  for  it,  for  it  has  lightened 
that  dreadful  pressure  upon  my  brain,  and  I  can  think 
without  bewilderment.  Now  that  the  act  is  done,  I  can- 
not realize  it ;  I  cannot  think  that  the  days  will  come  and 
go,  and  the  seasons  come  and  pass,  without  this  hope,  that 
so  long  has  been  the  food  of  my  dreams  both  sleeping  and 
waking.  /  What  will  life  be  to  me  without  his  love  ?  My 
soul  turns,  fainting,  from  the  thought.)  Yet  is  it  not  better 
that  I  should  suffer  alone  than  that"  we  both  should  learn 
too  late  the  mistake  we  had  made?  Yet,  oh,  Hal,  my  lost 
love !  better,  far  better  had  it  been  for  us  never  to  have 
tasted  the  sweets  of  this  poisoned  chalice  than  to  have  dis- 
covered at  this  late  hour  its  hidden  bitterness.  Our  past 
has  been  beautiful,  but  it  has  faded,  and  forever !— crushed 
and  broken  are  the  rosy  dreams  that  floated  through  the 


BEECHWOOD. 


209 


love-lit  chambers  of  my  soul !  Life  must  wear  for  me 
henceforth  only  the  ashen  colors  of  decay.  The  decree  is 
final.  I  feel,  in  the  innermost  depths  of  my  soul,  that  the 
die  is  cast;  that  henceforth  the  future  bears  for  us  no  joy 
in  common,  no  grief  that  may  be  lightened  by  the  other. 

Once  it  was  not  thus. 

There  was  a  time  whose  memory  is  embalm'd 
And  placed  with  sacred  care  within  the  heart's 
Most  pure  and  holy  temple, — an  hour  when, 
Close  nestled  to  thy  side,  with  quiet  joy 
I've  heard  thee  breathe  thy  low  and  eajnest  vows 
Of  love  unchanging,  or,  in  the  serene 
And  silent  intercourse  of  soul  with  soul, 
Have  listen'd  to  the  full,  harmonious  throbs 
Of  thy  high,  loving  heart !     Alas  that  e'er  - 

The  hour  should  come  when  I  should  doubt  its  truth !  j£&^ 

Alas,  indeed  !  (What  bitterness  like  that  of  doubt  fiwr 
one  beloved  \)  With  it  we  lose  our  faith  in  mankind  and 
wonder  what  in  all  the  world  is  true.  But  I  will  not  yield 
to  this  morbid  feeling;  I  will, not  sit  with  idly-folded 
hands  dreaming  of  the  past  and  dreading  the  future.  I 
w  ill  shake  from  my  soul  this  lethargy. 

I  will  be  free  -.  and  thou 

Shalt  know  that  woman's  pride  is  stronger  e'en 
Than  her  most  fervent  love !     I  will  forget 
Thee  !     Soon  the  past,  like  other  fever'd  dreams 
Of  gladness,  with  its  memories  of  joy 
And  sorrow,  shall  be  lost  to  me  forever ! 
It  may  seem  hard  at  first,  and  I  may  feel 
Life  is  no  longer  life,  deprived  of  thee ; 
But  still  my  firm  resolve  is  fix'd, — I  can 
And  will  forget  thee  \J  Life  no  doubt  will  wear 
A  deeper  shade  of  sadness ;  no  glad  birds 
Will  warble  forth  their  strains  of  melody 
To  cheer  my  heart ;  no  flowers  will  spring  around 
My  future  way  ;  and  seldom  will  be  seen 
Verdant  oases  in  life's  desert  waste ! 
And  oh !  when  once  my  spirit  shall  be  free, 


2io  BEECHWOOD. 

Never  shall  man  regain  the  sceptre  thou 

Hast  lost  !    /Love's  dream  shall  pass  forever  ;  while 

The  chaplet  of  bright  flowers  that  he  wove 

Shall  hang  in  memory's  gallery  of  art, 

A  beautiful  adornment,  to  be  look'd 

Upon,  but  never  worn  by  woman  more.) 

Thus  I  lay  down  the  love  that  has  brightened  my  life 

for  years  ;  thus  chant  my  last  sad  requiem  above  its  tomb. 

(it  is  meet  that  it  should  be  done  in  the  silence  of  the  mid- 

night; it  is  sacrilege  for  other  eyes  than  God's  to  look 

upon  such  hours.)  /,  'f  ^ 

Aug.  i.  The  days  come  and  go,  but,  in  sfnte  of  my 
efforts  to  cast  from  me  the  influence  of  the  past,  I  am  des- 
olate. My  heart  steals  ever  back  to  this  grave  of  my  buried 
hopes  that  the  flowers  will  not  cover.  I  sleep  to  dream  of 
it  ;  I  awaken  to  find  it  ever  uppermost  in  my  thoughts  ; 
and  yet  it  is  final.  I  do  not  deceive  myself  with  the  hope 
of  a  future  reconciliation  ;  indeed,  I  desire  it  not.  The 
beautiful  cord  once  broken  can  never  be  reunited  without 
a  scar.  Faith  once  destroyed  can  never  be  perfect  again. 


It  is  over  the  ruins  of  her  shrine  I  grieve.  My  trust  / 
perfect.  I  thought  no  power  on  earth  sufKcient:to*cast  even 
a  shadow  upon  so  beautiful  a  shrine  ;)  but  it  lies  in  the  dust, 
and  on  its  altars  are  only  now  the  cold  damp  ashes  of  love's 
fervent  offerings.  It  will  some  day,  I  trust,  be  covered  with 
flowers  and  ivy  ;  but  I  shall  never  forget  that  the  ruined 
altar  lies  beneath. 

The  young  ladies  returned  to  Nettie's  on  the  evening  of 
the  day  of  my  interview  in  the  library  with  Hal.  For  once, 
no  effort  was  made  to  disturb  us.  Th^  next  morning  a 
note  to  Gertie  said  that  they  much  regretted  an  urgent 
summons  to  join  their  friends  at  Newport  that  day,  — 
would  not  even  have  time  to  make  their  adieus  in  person, 
which  annoyed  them  exceedingly,  etc.  ;  and  they  left  upon 
the  afternoon  train. 


BEECHWOOD.  21 1 

Nettie  came  over  at  once,  knowing  that  something  was 
wrong;  and  her  indignation  on  hearing  my  story,  which,  so 
far  as  Sallie  was  concerned,  I  told  to  her  and  Gertie,  was 
unparalleled.  She  declared  that  she  would  go  at  once  to 
Hal  and  tell  him  of  her  treachery.  I  pleaded  with  her  not 
to  do  so,  and  finally  extorted  a  partial  promise  by  telling 
her  that  I  should  be  seriously  offended  if  she  did. 

"  But  you  will  forgive  Hal,  Nannie?" 

"Heartily  and  entirely,  dear  Nettie;  but,  nevertheless, 
we  can  never  be  the  same  to  each  other  again.  At  present 
any  communication  is  utterly  impossible." 

She  tried  hard  to  overcome  my  scruples,  but  finally 
desisted,  saying,  with  a  tender  embrace, — 

"  Well,  do  as  you  will,  you  will  always  be  dearer  to  me 
than  any  other  woman,  let  her  be  who  she  may,  that  he 
may  marry.  And  I  assure  you  it  will  not  be  my  fault  if  he 
ever  brings  that  unwomanly  Sallie  Reve  into  my  presence 
again." 

Hal  remained  here  until  yesterday,  when  he  returned  to 
New  York.  He  wrote  me  a  day  or  two  ago  a  beautiful  little 
letter,  pleading  for  a  few  minutes'  interview ;  but,  although 
my  heart  bled  for  him,  I  was  resolute.  I  simply  replied, — 

"  It  would  only  cause  us  unnecessary  suffering.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  dear  a  friend  you  have  been  to  me  from 
my  childhood,  and  shall  watch  with  interest  your  future 
course.  God  grant  it  be  a  prosperous  and  honorable  one. 
But  it  would  be  wrong  for  either  of  us  to  deceive  ourselves 
with  the  thought  that  we  could  ever  be  to  each  other  again 
what  we  have  been  in  the  past.  It  were  impossible.  I  bid  you 
'  God  speed  '  upon  your  way,wherever  it  may  lie,  confident 
that  it  will  be  in  a  widely  different  path  from  mine." 

With  this  note  I  inclosed  the  many  letters  I  had  received 
from  his  hand,  together  with  my  ring,  and  the  many  little 
tokens  of  remembrance  I  had  from  time  to  time  received, 


212  BEECHWOOD. 

and  sent  them  all  to  him  by  Joseph.  Yesterday  I  received 
a  similar  package  from  him,  with  simply  the  words  to  me, 
"  May  God  bless  and  keep  you  !  I  shall  never  forget  how 
much  sunlight  you  have  woven  into  my  life." 

I  took  this  package,  together  with  a  jetty  curl  that  I 
had  overlooked  in  sending  the  package  to  him,  wrapped 
them  in  linen,  embalmed  them  in  rose-leaves  and  jessa- 
mine, inclosed  them  in  a  tiny  enameled  box  that  he  had 
given  me  when  a  little  child,  and,  stealing  out  into  the 
beech  grove,  buried  them  beneath  a  tree,  whose  where- 
abouts I  am  sure  I  should  never  again  be  able  to  find.  With 
it  I  buried  all  future  reference  to  my  love,  so  bright,  so 
transient.  Would  that  I  could  likewise  bury  its  memory ! 

Aug.  3.  To-day  Gertie  came  to  me,  and  said,  kneeling 
beside  me  as  she  spoke,  and  twining  her  arms  lovingly  about 
me, — 

"Nannie,  I  am  sure  mamma  would  let  you  go  to  Europe 
with  Fannie,  if  you  were  to  ask  her ;  for  when  Aunt  Martha 
said  that  she  did  not  think  you  looked  quite  well,  and 
needed  a  little  change,  mamma  replied  that  she  thought 
it  would  be  very  desirable." 

They  all  know,  of  course,  of  my  trouble,  but  only  through 
Nettie  and  Gertie,  and  have  all  considerately  refrained 
from  speaking  of  it  in  my  presence. 

"Ah,  darling!"  I  said,  "you  are  always  so  thoughtful. 
Would  you  go  with  me  too?" 

"No,  dear,  I  would  rather  remain  at  home;  but  Ralph 
or  Charlie  could  go." 

"And  why  not  Gertie  also?" 

She  blushed,  and  shook  her  head,  and  said  she  feared  the 
sea;  but  if  I  would  like  to  go,  she  was  sure  she  could 
manage  it  for  me. 

"I  should  like  much  to  go,  dear  Gertie.  Any  change 
would  be  very  acceptable  to  me  at  present." 


BEECHWOOD.  213 

She  left  the  room,  and  in  a  little  while  came  running 
back,  and,  throwing  her  arms  impulsively  about  my  neck, 
exclaimed, — 

"  I  knew  she  would  let  you  go  !  She  said  if  you  really 
desired  it,  and  one  of  the  boys  would  go  with  you,  she  did 
not  think  she  would  have  any  objection ;  that  she  would 
think  about  it.  That  means  talking  with  Uncle  Ralph,  of 
course ;  you  know  mamma  does  nothing  without  his  sanc- 
tion ;  and  I  can  bring  him  around  very  easily,  I  am  sure." 
And  Gertie  danced  about  the  room,  as  delighted  as  though 
it  were  some  great  favor  to  herself  she  had  gained. 

"Why  are  you  so  glad  to  have  me  go,  Gertie?"  I 
asked. 

"  Oh,  for  two  or  three  reasons.  One  is,  I  know  it  would 
benefit  you;  then  I  am  sure  you  would  enjoy  it;  and 
then " 

"Goon." 

"Well,  then,  I  cannot  bear  that  any  one  else  should 
have  more  advantages  than  yourself;  especially  when  you 
are  in  reality  far  superior  in  every  respect." 

"Oh,  fie,  Gertie!" 

"I  can't  help  it,  Nannie.  It  tries  me  terribly  to  see 
every  one  thinking  Sallie  Reve  so  smart,  when  she  has  not 
half  as  much  sense  in  a  month  as  you  have  in  a  minute." 

I  laughed  in  spite  of  myself,  and,  kissing  the  rosy  lips, 
replied, — 

"Well,  there  is  one  thing  of  which  Sallie  is  not  pos- 
sessed, in  spite  of  her  talents  and  beauty." 

"What  is  that?" 

"An  appreciative  and  precious  sister  like  mine." 

And  then  we  fell  to  talking  of  my  trip  and  planning  for 
the  future ;  and  so  the  evening  passed. 

After  we  had  retired,  I  could  not  sleep,  but  lay  thinking* 
for  several  hours.  Gertie  slept  quietly  by  my  side  for  a 

'9 


214 


BEECHWOOD. 


long  time,  but  at  last  she  became  restless,  and  murmured 
inarticulate  words. 

"What  is  it,  darling?"  I  said,  thinking  perhaps  she  had 
an  unquiet  dream. 

She  moved  slightly,  and  murmured,  lovingly,  "Ellis, 
Ellis." 

Can  it  be  possible,  I  thought,  that  she  loves  Ellis  Ray? 
The  thought  of  Gertie  loving  any  one  had  never  occurred 
to  me  before,  and  it  awoke  a  strange  tenderness  for  her  in 
my  heart. 

"My  darling,"  I  whispered,  bending  over  and  kissing 
her. 

She  opened  her  eyes,  and  said,  "Dear  Nannie."  And 
then  she  questioned  me,  and  I  told  her  what  she  had  said ; 
and  in  the  quiet  of  the  midnight  she  confessed  to  me  her 
love  for  our  young  minister,  and  how  he  wished  her  at 
once  to  become  his  wife,  but  she  feared  mamma  would 
never  consent,  she  was  yet  so  young, — not  eighteen  until 
next  March.  She  said  he  would  willingly  wait  another  year, 
but  his  parishioners  thought  it  best  for  him  to  marry  soon ; 
and  he  had  loved  Gertie,  and  resolved  to  wait  for  her,  since 
the  first  morning  he  had  seen  her  in  the  church  grove  on 
the  hill,  years  ago. 

"And  how  long  has  Gertie  loved  him?"  I  questioned. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  hiding  her  face  upon 
my  shoulder,  as  though  even  in  the  darkness  I  could  see 
her  blushes.  "I  only  know  that  when  he  spoke  to  me,  a 
few  days  ago,  of  his  hopes  and  desires,  my  heart  sprang  up 
gladly  to  meet  him,  and  I  was  conscious  that  it  was  no  new 
feeling  awakened,  but  one  that  had  only  lain  dormant  till 
his  hand  called  it  into  being." 

"  Well,  darling,"  I  said,  "set  your  dear  little  heart  at 
rest,  for  I  am  sure  it  will  all  come  right,  and  that  very  soon. ' ' 
And  then  we  both  went  to  sleep  in  each  other's  arms. 


BEECHWOOD.  2I5 

Aug.  6.  The  next  morning  when  I  went  below  I  found 
mamma  busy  with  her  flowers,  and  when  I  went  out  to  meet 
her  she  received  me  with  so  bright  a  smile  that  I  found 
courage  to  say,  after  my  greeting, — 

"Mamma,  will  you  really  let  me  go  with  Fannie?" 

"Do  you  really  desire  it,  dear?" 

"I  do,  indeed,  if  you  think  I  may." 

"I  should  much  like  you  to  go, — travel  is  always  so  in- 
structive,— if  Ralph  or  Charlie  will  go  with  you.  Uncle 
Ralph  will  be  out  this  morning,  and  we  will  see  what  he 
thinks  of  it." 

So  the  result  is,  that  it  is  settled  J  am  to  go.  Fannie  is 
to  be  married  on  the  i6th,  so  we  will  probably  sail  about 
the  20th.  Ralph  accompanies  me,  as  Charlie's  studies  are 
yet  incomplete. 

Yesterday  morning  I  slipped  away  from  the  house,  for  I 
desired  to  go  alone,  and  walked  rapidly  to  old  Father 
White's.  I  found  him  alone,  and  very  glad  to  see  me,  for 
Gertie  and  I  have  ever  been  favorites  with  the  dear  old  man. 
After  a  little  preliminary  conversation,  I  told  him  I  had 
come  to  seek  his  aid  on  a  question  involving  the  happiness 
of  two  whom  I  was  sure  he  loved. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "you  refer  to  Ellis  and  Gertie?  Ellis 
has  already  spoken  to  me  of  their  desires,  and,  although 
Gertie  is  still  but  a  child,  she  has  ever  been  so  quiet  and 
thoughtful  that  I  think  it  would  be  an  excellent  thing." 

"Then,  dear  Mr.  White,  you  will  speak  to  mamma,  will 
you  not?  You  know  her  objections  to  early  marriages." 

"I  surely  will,  my  dear,  this  very  day,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  beginning  at  once  to  look  for  his  boots  and 
overcoat.  I  bade  him  good-by,  and  hastened  away  to 
Gertie.  But  the  fates  were  surely  against  me  that  morn- 
ing, for  I  found  Ellisjilready  closeted  with  mamma  in  the 
library. 


2I6  BEECHWOOD. 

"  Oh,  if  he  had  only  put  it  off  for  another  day,"  I  said. 
But  he  had  not :  so  we  had  only  to  wait  for  the  bell. 

At  length  it  came,  and  Gertie  said,  "You  will  go  with 
me,  dear?  I  cannot  go  alone."  So  we  entered  the  room 
together. 

Ellis,  always  sensitive,  looked  worried,  and  only  bowed 
as  he  set  chairs  for  us,  without  speaking. 

"Gertie,"  mamma  began,  kindly,  "I  am  very  sorry 
you  have  followed  so  closely  in  Nannie's  footsteps.  I 
dare  not  consent  again  to  one  of  these  long  engage- 
ments." 

"Nor  need  you,  dear  mamma,"  I  began;  "Gertie  is 
older  to-day  in  thoughtfulness  and  womanly  wisdom  than 
I,  and  you  would  soon  have  given  your  consent  to  my  en- 
gagement and  marriage."  I  winced  as  I  said  the  words, 
but  resolved  that  no  sensitiveness  on  my  part  should  lose 
Gertie's  cause. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  Mr.  White,  and  several  of  the  older 
members  of  my  congregation,  of  my  desires,  and  they  all 
approve  of  my  choice,  and  sanction  an  early  day  for  the 
ceremony.  And  so,  I  assure  you,  madam,"  said  Ellis, 
advancing  a  step  nearer  mamma,  and  respectfully  taking 
Gertie's  hand,  "  if  you  will  only  intrust  this  precious  child 
to  my  keeping,  we  will  in  all  things  be  guided  by  your 
superior  judgment,  and,  so  far  as  lies  within  my  power,  give 
you  no  after-cause  for  regret." 

"Dear  mamma,"  I  said,  as  she  sat  perplexed  and 
thoughtful,  "I  will  promise  to  stay  with  you  forever,  if 
you  will  only  give  cheerful  consent  to  this.  I  pray  you  do 
not  subject  dear  Gertie  to  the  bitter  pangs  I  have  endured, 
only  because  she  is  young."  And  the  hot  tears,  in  spite 
of  my  courage,  rolled  down  my  cheeks. 

"Oh,"  I  exclaimed  inwardly,  "if  Father  White  would 
only  come  !  mamma  respects  his  judgment  so  much." 


BEECHWOOD. 


217 


"My  dear  children,"  mamma  at  last  said,  "you  shake 
my  soul  with  your  pleading.  Oh  that  I  knew  just  what 
was  right !  I  had  firmly  resolved  that  Gertie  should  be  kept 
free  from  all  such  entanglements  for  years  yet ;  and  here, 
when  I  least  expected  it,  comes  a  more  resolute  attack  than 
the  former.  Leave  me  until  to-morrow  to  decide.  I  must 
take  time  for  thought  and  counsel." 

"  Dear  mamma,"  I  said,  "  I  will  take  all  the  blame  with 
Uncle  Ralph.  I  am  sure  he  will  not  be  angry,  he  thinks  so 
much  of  Ellis.  Come,  Gertie,  come,  Ellis,"  I  said,  "let 
us  swear  eternal  allegiance  to  mamma,  if  she  will  only 
make  us  happy  in  this  request;"  and  half  playfully,  half 
earnestly,  I  drew  Gertie  down  beside  me.  Her  pale, 
pleading  face,  I  think,  did  more  with  mamma  than  all  of 
my  words. 

"That,"  said  Ellis,  "I  can  do  right  cheerfully;"  and 
then,  more  seriously,  "If  I  thought  your  objections  at  all 
personal,  dear  madam,  I  could  not  attempt  to  parry 
them ;  but  being  led  to  believe  they  are  only  on  account 
of  your  daughter's  extreme  youth,  and  believing  that,  aside 
from  my  own  heart's  preference,  such  a  union  would  enable 
me  to  be  more  successful  in  my  calling,  1  have  dared  to 
hope  we  might  be  enabled  to  overcome  them." 

"I  am  sure,"  answered  mamma,  " were  Gertie  only  a 
few  years  older,  her  choice  would  please  me  well ;  but  she 
is  so  young  to  assume  such  responsibilities.  Do  you  not 
shrink  from  them,  my  child?" 

Poor  Gertie  crimsoned,  and  then  paled,  looked  plead- 
ingly at  mamma,  and  then  at  Ellis,  who  tenderly  said  to 
her,  "  Speak  truly  the  thoughts  of  your  heart,  dear  Gertie, 
the  same  as  though  I  were  not  present;"  and,  dropping 
her  head  upon  my  shoulder,  she  replied,  distinctly, — 

"  Nothing  could  be  unpleasant  to  me,  dear  mamma,  if 
shared  with  Ellis." 

19* 


2i8  BEECHWOOD. 

A  gleam  of  happiness  lit  up  his  face,  and  mamma  had 
just  answered,  "Well,  well,  I  am  sure  I  wish  to  do  what 
is  best ;  but  I  must  take  a  little  time  for  thought  and  coun- 
sel," when  the  door  opened,  and  Father  White  entered. 

He  understood  all  at  a  glance,  and  when  mamma  would 
have  risen  to  greet  him,  he  raised  his  hand  impressively, 
and  said,  "Remain  for  the  present  as  you  are;"  and,  ad- 
vancing, placed  his  trembling  hands  upon  the  bowed  heads 
of  Ellis  and  Gertie,  and  said,  solemnly, — 

"  *  What  God  has  joined  together,  let  not  man  put  asunder. 
If  any  there  be  who  would  separate  these  two  loving  hearts, 
let  them  speak  now,  or  forever  after  hold  their  peace.' ' 

He  paused,  but  the  silence  of  death  was  in  the  room 
for  a  full  minute;  then  he  added,  "Then  I  shall  unite 
them,  according  to  God's  holy  ordinance,  upon  the 
second  Sunday  in  October."  And  he  knelt  beside  them, 
and,  in  his  own  simple  but  fervent  style,  offered  up  a 
short  petition  in  their  behalf,  that  melted  us  all  to  tears. 
Once  he  said,  "  I  ask  not  for  them  wealth  and  honor  and 
worldly  aggrandizement,  for  these  are  perishable  things, 
that  pass  as  the  dew  of  the  morning;  but  I  ask,  O  Father, 
that  they  may  be  endowed  with  strength  and  grace  for 
every  hour  of  trial ;  that  their  lives,  beautifully  blended 
into  one,  may  flow  onward  in  the  arduous  but  lovely  way 
they  have  chosen,  as  the  mingling  waters  of  some  mighty 
but  placid  river;  and  that  they  may  for  their  reward  see 
constantly  springing  up,  from  the  seeds  of  piety  and  use- 
fulness that  they  will  have  sown,  the  lovely  flowers  that 
perish  not,  but  are  only  perfected  in  the  land  beyond  the 
shadows. ' ' 

When  we  arose,  for  an  instant  no  word,  was  spoken  ;  for 
from  the  full  heart  words  come  not  readily,  Solomon  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding.  Then  Gertie  turned  to 
mamma,  who  folded  her  lovingly  in  her  arms,  and  kissed 


BEECHWOOD.  2lg 

her  again  and  again,  but  did  not  speak,  until  Gertie  said, 
tearfully, — 

"Speak  to  me,  dear  mamma,  and  say  you  are  content. 
I  cannot  be  happy  without." 

"  What  else  can  I  say,  dear  child  ?"  said  mamma,  laugh- 
ingly, but  with  a  very  suspicious  quiver  in  her  voice  ;  "for 
surely  the  sceptre  has  departed  from  Israel."  We  all 
laughed,  and  Father  White  replied,  very  meekly, — 

"  I  trust  that  the  royal  mantle  has  not  fallen  upon  un- 
worthy shoulders." 

Then  Ellis  came,  and,  bending  above  mamma's  hand  in 
his  courtly  way,  said, — 

"I  trust,  dear  madam,  that  my  future  conduct  will 
prove  that  I  am  not  ungrateful  for  the  concessions  of 
to-day." 

"Only  be  kind  to  her,  and  remember  ever  that  she  is 
but  a  child,  and  I  can  truly  give  you  the  place  of  a  son," 
was  mamma's  half-tearful  reply. 

And  then,  while  she  and  Father  White  conversed  aparti 
and  Gertie  had  stolen  away  to  her  own  room,  Ellis  whis- 
pered to  me, — 

"  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness  of  to-day,  dear 
Nannie  ;  for  without  your  aid  I  am  sure  your  mamma 
would  have  been  utterly  inaccessible." 

"I  knew  that  Gertie  loved  you,"  I  answered,  softly, 
"and  I  had  faith  to  believe  that  you  would  make  her 
happy."  Then,  as  my  own  blighted  hopes  arose  before 
me,  I  turned  upon  him  fiercely,  and  said, — 

"  If  you  ever  do  cause  her  one  hour's  sorrow,  I  shall  be 
ready  to  annihilate  you  !" 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  that  way,  Nannie,  as  though  you 
believed  me  capable  of  such  a  thing.  The  hour  will  never 
come  when  I  would  not  willingly  sacrifice  my  life  for  her 
good." 


220  BEECHWOOD. 

I  believed  him,  and  answered,  penitently, — 

"  Forgive  me,  Ellis  :  I  have  suffered  so  much  of  late  that 
I  distrust  every  one ;  and  Gertie  is  dearer  to  me  than  my 
own  life." 

"Never  doubt  me  again,  dear  sister;  for  time  will  but 
deepen  my  love,  never  destroy  it." 

And  I  have  faith  to  believe  that  he  is  right. 

Aug.  12.  Now  that  Gertie  is  so  soon  to  go  to  Ellis,  I 
felt  that  I  should  not  leave  mamma ;  but  they  would  none 
of  them  hear  of  my  abandoning  my  trip ;  and  mamma 
finally  said, — 

"  Ellis,  I  am  sure,  will  promise  not  to  take  Gertie  from 
the  old  homestead  till  your  return,  and,  as  Ralph  and  Charlie 
will  both  be  absent,  a  son  will  not  be  at  all  amiss  at  the  old 
place." 

"  Indeed  we  will  remain  with  pleasure,"  said  Ellis,  who 
was  present,  "  if  you  desire  it."  And  Gertie  fairly  clapped 
her  hands  with  joy  at  the  thought.  So  I  leave  much  better 
satisfied  than  if  mamma  were  alone. 

I  regret  that  we  will  not  be  present  at  her  wedding ;  and 
yet  it  will  spare  me  many  a  pang.  Gertie  said  last  night, 
throwing  her  arms  about  me,  and  weeping  impulsively, — 

"  Dear  Nannie,  how  can  I  go  through  it  all  without 
you?" 

"  Let  me  stay  with  you,  then,  dear." 

"No,  no;  I  could  not  be  so  selfish;  you  may  never 
have  such  another  opportunity.  I  shall  feel  lost  without 
you;  but  then,  you  know,  I  shall  have  Ellis." 

"  Yes,  dear  Gertie,"  I  answered,  "  and  I  believe  him  in 
every  way  worthy  of  your  love." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  that !  (he  is  so  good  and  noWe^M 

Dear  child  !  there  are  no  unstirred  depths  in  her  pure 
heart.  She  not  only  loves  Ellis,  but  reverences  him.  He 
is  seven  years  her  senior,  and  she  looks  up  to  him  as  to  a 


BEECHWOOD.  22I 

being  of  superior  mould,  and  hangs  upon  his  words  as  upon 
the  words  of  a  god.  And  he?  In  his  eyes  she  is  per- 
fection. 

It  is  beautiful  to  see  them  together :  they  are  so  admira- 
bly suited  for  one  another, — he  so  grave  and  thoughtful 
and  dignified,  and  she  so  pure  and  good,  and  looking  up 
'  to  and  trusting  him  so  implicitly,  and  feeling  such  rever- 
ence for  his  high  calling  and  pure  life. 

Mamma  seems  perfectly  satisfied,  and  Uncle  Ralph  never 
offered  a  word  of  objection,  but  shook  Ellis  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  kissed  Gertie  tenderly,  saying,  "She  won't  be 
of  much  use  yet  awhile,  only  to  pet ;  but  that  gives  many 
happy  hours  to  one's  life  !"  Gertie  blushed,  and  Ellis  said 
he  thought  she  would  soon  prove  herself  to  be  useful  as 
well  as  ornamental ;  and  I  thought  how  differently  Uncle 
Ralph  had  received  the  announcement  of  my  engagement 
to  Hal.  But  I  cannot  but  think  how  different  my  love  for 
Hal  was  from  Gertie's  for  Ellis.  We  loved  each  other 
more  as  children  love, — as  Sallie  so  scornfully  said, — with 
perfect  and  beautiful  simplicity  ;  but  I  never  looked  up  to 
him  and  reverenced  him  as  Gertie  loves  Ellis.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  so  to  do.  I  thought  him  talented  and 
honorable,  and  standing  far  above  ordinary  men  ;  but, 
knowing  him  all  my  life,  playing  with  him  in  my  child- 
hood, seeing  him  constantly  as  he  grew  to  manhood,  rev- 
erence was  a  difficult  passion  for  him  to  inspire ;  and  I 
have  really  come  to  think  that  love  in  its  perfection  cannot 
exist  without  it.  But  it  is  useless  for  me  now  to  reason 
upon  this  point.  I  have  resolutely  put  the  passion  from 
me ;  or  if  at  times  it  gains  a  brief  ascendency,  it  is  known 
only  to  my  own  heart  and  to  God. 

Gertie  and  Uncle  Ralph  are  going  with  me  to  New  York, 
to  remain  till  the  vessel  sails.  Mamma  prefers  to  say  her 
parting  words  at  Beechwood,  rather  than  in  the  hurry  and 


222  BEECHWOOD. 

excitement  of  departure.  We  will  go  about  the  i6th,  so 
as  to  spend  a  little  while  with  Charlie.  Nettie  has  prom- 
ised to  spend  as  much  time  as  possible  with  Gertie,  and 
assist  her  as  much  as  possible  in  her  arrangements.  What 
additions  she  needs  to  her  wardrobe  we  will  get  in  the  city 
while  there.  She  insists  they  must  all  be  very  plain,  as  she 
is  to  be  a  minister's  wife  and  must  set  an  example  to  his 
congregation.  She  will  make  a  perfect  one,  I  am  sure. 

Yesterday  she  took  it  into  her  pretty  head  that  she  must 
put  up  her  curls ;  that  they  were  inappropriate  now  for 
her  to  wear.  So  she  combed  them  plainly  back  behind 
her  ears,  and  gathered  them  into  a  net  behind.  They 
are  too  short  to  roll  in  a  coil,  but  they  looked  beautiful 
peeping  through  the  net,  and  here  and  there  one,  a  little 
more  willful  than  the  rest,  breaking  away  from  the  re- 
straint  and  twining  about  her  neck  or  forehead.  At  last 
she  succeeded  in  getting  them  under  tolerable  control, 
and,  looking  at  herself  complacently  in  the  glass,  said, — 

"  I  am  sure  Ellis  will  like  it  much  better ;  it  makes  me 
look  so  much  plainer.  Don't  you  think  so,  Nannie?" 

"Decidedly!"  I  said,  dryly,  "if  it  is  the  second  in- 
quiry you  wish  answered." 

She  looked  at  herself  again,  and  then  said,  "  I  am  sure 
it  is  much  more  suitable,  Nannie." 

"Well,  let  us  go  into  the  orchard  with  our  work;  Ellis 
will  follow  us  when  he  comes. ' ' 

So  we  soon  were  busily  chatting  there,  and  did  not 
notice  Ellis's  approach  until  he  stood  before  us. 

"Why,  Gertie,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  ruefully,  "what 
have  you  been  doing  with  yourself?" 

"  Putting  up  my  curls.  Don't  you  think  it  much  better 
to  wear  them  so  now?" 

Ellis  saw  the  smile  about  my  lips,  and  without  more  ado 
stepped  behind  Gertie  and  deliberately  freed  her  beautiful 


BEECHWOOD.  22- 

hair  from  its  confinement ;  then,  looking  critically  at  her, 
and  readjusting  lightly  a  curl  here  and  there,  he  said, — 

"  Wear  it,  darling,  as  God  made  it  for  you.  You  cannot 
-  improve  upon  his  handiwork." 

Poor  little  Gertie  looked  half  disposed  to  cry,  as  she 
said,  "I  thought  you  would  like  it  better  so,  Ellis.  I 
want  so  much  to  look  older  and  more  sedate. ' ' 

He  laughed,  a  free,  joyous  laugh,  as  he  replied,  "I 
would  not  change  you  an  atom,  my  Gertie,  either  in  ap- 
pearance, age,  or  manners,  if  I  could.  Always  be  to  me 
your  own  sweet  self,  and  I  will  risk  all  the  rest." 

I  felt  confident  it  would  so  end,  and  should  have  been 
much  disappointed  had  he  evinced  a  disposition  to  accede 
to  her  proposals.  I  do  not  wonder  Gertie  loves  him ;  I 
can  easily  accord  him  a  brother's  place  in  my  heart. 

Aug.  18.  I  have  bidden  adieu  to  Beechwood.  Every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  dear  old  place  have  Gertie  and  I  vis- 
ited to-day  together.  I  have  laid  fresh  garlands  upon  dear 
Kittie's  and  papa's  graves,  and  sat  with  Gertie  pensively 
beneath  the  trees  where  we  all  have  sat  so  often,  as  children, 
together.  I  have  given  Gertie  all  my  instructions  for  the 
future,  and  wept  with  her  over  the  ruins  of  the  past ;  and 
now,  dear  old  book,  I  have  only  to  say  good-by  to  you, 
and  I  am  ready  to  depart.  We  leave  on  the  early  train  to- 
morrow. My  trunk  Joseph  has  already  taken  to  the  depot, 
and  my  traveling  garments  are  spread  upon  the  chairs 
beside  me. 

I  start  upon  this  journey  with  mingled  feelings  of  pain 
and  pleasure.  God  only  knows  what  it  will  bring  to  me  ! 
Ah  !  if  it  brings  but  rest  to  my  weary  heart,  whose  unquiet 
spirit  all  my  reasoning,  all  my  resolutions,  and  all  my  phi- 
losophy will  not  lay,  I  shall  indeed  be  content.  I  daily 
argue  to  myself  a  thousand  reasons  why  these  things  are 
best,  but  daily  again  return  to  my  weary  regrets  for  the 


224 


BEECHWOOD. 


past  and  vain  yearnings  for  the  unattainable  in  the  future. 
I  had  thought  never  to  have  spoken  again  of  this,  but  to- 
night I  am  to  bid  you  adieu, — a  long,  loving  adieu.  To- 
night I  write  the  last  entry  upon  your  dear  pages  that  I 
shall  ever  make.  It  is  meet  that  this  mingled  record  of 
joy  and  sorrow  should  here  have  an  end.  Should  I  ever 
open  your  leaves  again,  I  trust  it  will  be  with  a  lighter 
heart,  and  a  more  hopeful  trust  in  the  future,  as  I  glance 
them  over.  Now  I  can  only  say, — 

Old  book,  good-by  !     Full  many  a  pleasant  hour 

I've  spent  in  bending  o'er  thy  friendly  page ; 
Full  many  a  pang  thou'st  soothed,  with  wondrous  power, 

Full  many  a  heavy  grief  hast  help'd  t'assuage ! 

Thou'st  shared  my  sorrows,  seen  my  tear-drops  fall, 
And  heard  the  anguish'd  wailings  of  my  heart ! 

And  now,  since  I  no  more  may  on  thee  call, 
I'll  drop  a  tear  above  thee,  ere  we  part. 

Child  of  my  ofttimes  fever'd  brain,  adieu ! 

No  other  heart  will  love  thee  half  so  well : 
And  I,  perchance,  shall  find  no  friend  more  true  ! 

Companion  of  my  inner  life — farewell  1 


Two  Years  Later. 

Aug.  1 8,  1 8 — .  Two  years  ago  this  very  day,  I  laid 
away  my  diary,  on  the  eve  of  my  departure  for  Europe ; 
and,  although  I  have  been  at  home  at  least  six  months,  I 
have  never  looked  upon  its  pages  since.  But  to-night  the 
impulse  came  so  strong  upon  me,  as  I  sat  alone  in  my  quiet 
chamber,  to  look  on  its  dear,  familiar  face  again,  that  I 
arose,  and,  unlocking  the  secret  drawer  in  my  desk  where 
it  so  long  has  rested,  drew  it  forth  and  seated  myself  to 


BEECHWOOD.  225 

glance  it  over.  I  read  the  last  entry  I  then  made,  and 
when  I  had  done  found  more  than  one  tear  had  blotted  its 
sad  record.  Tears,  not  of  sorrow,  not  wholly  of  joy,  but 
of  the  two  passions,  perhaps,  combined,  together  with 
gratitude,  intense  and  fervent,  to  the  Blessed  Father  of  all, 
who  has  brought  me  safely  through  so  many  vicissitudes  to 
this  hour  of  rest  and  of  blessedness.  But  I  will  not  antici- 
pate. There  remain  some  fifty  friges  yet  unfilled,  in  the 
dear  old  book  that  I  thought  I  had  laid  away  forever. 
Upon  them  I  will  write,  in  continuous  narrative,  discon- 
nected and  brief,  the  record  of  the  past  two  years.  It  will 
form  a  fitting  conclusion  to  the  erratic  and  broken  record 
on  the  foregoing  pages. 

We  sailed  from  New  York  upon  the  zoth  of  August,  as 
I  had  anticipated,  and,  after  a  somewhat  windy  but  other- 
wise pleasant  voyage,  landed  at  Queenstown,  in  the  south 
of  Ireland,  and  started  upon  our  journey  northward.  It 
would  be  absurd  to  attempt  to  record  in  thesq  brief  pages 
the  events  of  our  journey ;  besides,  my  note-book,  of  travels 
contains  them  all,  and  it  would  be  folly  to  rewrite  them 
here.  Enough  that  during  our  travels  in  Old  Ireland  we 
lived  in  a  perfect  dream  of  bewildering  excitement,  wan- 
dering amid  old  ruins  that  for  centuries  had  withstood  the 
war  of  the  elements,  and  listening  to  the  wild  legends  with 
which  the  country  abounds. 

From  thence  we  crossed  into  bonnie  Scotland,  and 
spent  days  and  weeks  amid  the  enchanting  scenery  of  the 
Highlands ;  came  down  into  Edinburgh,  replete  with  in- 
terest of  the  olden  times ;  visited  its  castle  and  cathedral 
and  other  places  of  historical  interest;  stood  in  silent  awe 
in  the  audience-  and  bed-chambers  of  the  beautiful  but 
ill-fated  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  and  fancied  we  saw  the 
fierce  conspirators  enter  through  the  secret  door  behind 
the  tapestry  and  drag  from  her  royal  presence  the  terrified 


226  BEECHWOOD. 

Rizzio,  who  vainly  clung  to  her  for  the  protection  that, 
queen  though  she  was,  she  was  powerless  to  yield.  Thi* 
spot  possessed  for  us  more  fascination  than  almost  any 
other  in  our  travels;  and  we  turned  from  the  silent  walls 
with  the  same  feelings  we  doubtless  would  have  had  had 
we  gazed  upon  the  lifeless  body  of  the  unfortunate  queen 
who  paid  so  bitterly  for  the  frailties  that  her  persecutors 
cruelly  magnified  into  cjjmes. 

From  Edinburgh  we  went  to  Glasgow ;  from  thence  to 
Ayr,  where  lived  and  sung  the  immortal  Burns ;  then 
through  intermediate  towns  and  cities  to  Stratford-upon- 
Avon,  where  sleeps  the  man  whose  wonderful  dramatic 
genius  towers  aloft  in  the  great  world  of  literature.  Then 
on  to  London,  the  great  Babylon  of  modern  times,  to 
record  our  wanderings  in  which  would  require  a  volume, 
— treading  with  reverence  the  vast  aisles  of  Westminster, 
where  sleep  the  royal  dead,  or  standing  in  the  prison- 
tower,  from  whence  went  forth  so  many  noble  prisoners 
to  the  block  of  the  executioner ;  ay,  even  viewing  the 
dread  block  and  axe  themselves  in  all  their  terror,  from 
which  so  many  beautiful,  so  many  lordly  heads  have 
fallen.  But  it  was  pleasant  to  reflect,  after  looking  upon 
these  horrors,  that  those  dreadful  days  have  passed  forever. 
We  have  fallen  upon  a  more  enlightened  age  and  fairer 
times.  No  country  now  is  better  governed  than  England, 
and  no  monarch  lives  better  beloved  by  her  people  than  is 
the  good  Queen  Victoria. 

From  thence  to  gay  Paris,  and  all  through  sunny  France 
and  Spain ;  then  over  into  Italy,  with  its  beautiful  skies, 
reserving  Northern  Europe  until  the  spring  should  open, 
for  it  was  now  late  in  November.  Venice  we  visited,  of 
course,  with  its  once-magnificent  palaces  and  towers,  its 
myriad  islands  and  its  massive  bridges,  its  canals  and  its 
gondolas.  We  ascended  the  Campanile,  and  rowed  in  a 


BEECHWOOD.  22j 

gondola  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  with  its  terrible  his- 
tory, the  greater  part  of  which  must  rest  in  the  silence  of 
obscurity  forever.  We  visited  Florence,  with  its  unrivaled 
paintings  and  sculpture,  and  passed  on  in  time  to  Rome, 
the  wonderful,  the  grand,  the  ancient,  and  the  powerful.  It 
would  be  simply  impossible  to  describe  it ;  it  must  be  seen, 
and  that  for  no  brief  while,  to  be  appreciated.  From 
thence  to  Naples,  with  its  beautifuj  bay, — ascending  Vesu- 
vius while  there,  and  looking  with  awe  into  its  crater,  from 
whence  such  tides  of  death  and  destruction  have  flowed. 
And  then  to  Pompeii,  exhumed  after  its  sleep  of  seven- 
teen centuries.  None  but  those  who  have  stood  in  its 
silent  streets  and  tried  to  grasp,  with  man's  puny  intellect, 
the  history  of  the  ages  that  lie  buried  beneath  those  mighty 
ruins,  can  form  the  slightest  idea  of  the  overwhelming  awe 
with  which  one  gazes  upon  this  vast  impromptu  mausoleum, 
this  mighty  "city  of  the  dead." 

We  had  intended  to  spend  the  winter  either  in  Rome  or 
Naples;  but  Mr.  Grinnel,  ever  anxious  to  please  and  grat- 
ify, proposed  that  we  should  spend  a  portion  of  it  in  a 
trip  to  Egypt  and  the  Holy  Land.  You  may  guess  with 
what  avidity  both  Fannie  and  I  acceded  to  the  proposal; 
and  so  was  gratified  the  great  wish  of  my  life.  We  as- 
cended the  Nile;  we  visited  the  pyramids,  and,  as  we  stood 
beneath  their  gigantic  shadows,  felt,  as  we  had  never  felt 
before,  the  utter  insignificance  of  man.  His  works  remain, 
ofttimes,  for  centuries,  while  of  him,  his  very  name  and 
lineage  forgotten,  not  an  atom  even  of  ashes  and  dust  is 
left.  Mr.  Grinnel  and  Ralph  ascended  to  the  summit  of 
Cheops;  but  Fannie  and  I  were  content  to  sit  beneath  its 
shadow  and  gaze  upon  the  weird  beauty  of  the  gigantic 
Sphinx,  and  speculate  upon  the  events  in  the  lost  ages  that 
its  silent  lips  could  reveal,  were  they  animated  with  life 
and  the  massive  head  endowed  with  intellect. 


22g  BEECHWOOD. 

But  I  find  I  am  spending,  in  spite  of  myself,  too  much 
time  and  space  upon  my  travels.  I  will  hasten.  We  vis- 
ited all  the  spots  made  dear  to  the  Christian  in  the  land 
of  the  Saviour's  birth,  knelt  in  holy  reverence  in  the 
"Chapel  of  the  Nativity"  in  Bethlehem,  built  upon  the 
very  spot  said  to  have  witnessed  the  birth  of  the  holy  child 
Jesus,  and  stood  upon  the  plains  of  Judea,  where  the  shep- 
herds received  the  glad  news  from  the  heavenly  visitant. 
We  went  to  the  "  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre"  at  Je- 
rusalem, erected  upon  Mount  Calvary,  entered  with  unsan- 
daled  feet  the  sacred  tomb,  and  knelt  with  full  hearts  beside 
the  marble  slab  whereon  reposed  the  body  of  our  now  risen 
Lord.  Ah,  no  man,  be  he  infidel  or  Christian,  can  enter 
those  sacred  precincts  unmoved.  The  tomb  is  of  fine 
marble,  some  six  or  seven  feet  square,  and  the  large  sar- 
cophagus of  white  marble,  which  it  is  asserted  received 
the  body  of  the  crucified  Saviour,  occupies  nearly  or  quite 
half  of  it.  Here  also  sat  the  angels  who  announced  to 
Mary  the  resurrection  of  her  beloved  Master.  Forty-two 
gold  and  silver  lamps,  constantly  burning,  are  suspended 
from  the  ceiling,  and  a  monk  at  the  head  of  the  tomb 
reads  incessantly  in  solemn  tones  the  prayers  for  the  dead. 
This  latter  we  could  readily  have  dispensed  with,  for 
nothing  in  such  a  place  inspires  reverence  like  silence. 

We  also  ascended,  by  a  dark  stairway,  to  the  summit  of 
the  Mount,  where  we  were  shown  the  hole  in  the  rock 
where  the  sacred  cross,  upon  which  the  Redeemer  of  man- 
kind expired,  was  planted ;  and  the  chasm  across  the  rock, 
caused  by  the  earthquake  in  that  dread  hour  when  "the 
veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in  twain  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom  ;  when  the  earth  did  quake,  and  the  rocks  were 
rent,  when  the  graves  were  opened,  and  the  dead  came 
forth."  Words  could  ill  describe  the  sensations  of  awe  and 
reverence  with  which  we  gazed  upon  these  things.  It 


BEECHWOOD.  22g 

seemed  to  me  that  the  darkness  which  then  fell  upon  all 
nature  must  return  at  the  very  remembrance  of  the  terrible 
tragedy  that  once  had  been  enacted  there. 

But  of  all  the  holy  places  visited,  none  affected  me  like 
the  garden  of  Gethsemane.  I  had  said  to  Ralph,  as  we 
went  along,  "  Dear  Ralph,  do  contrive  to  let  me  have  a 
moment  in  that  holy  place  alone.  The  eternal  talking  of 
these  priests  and  vagrants  is  intolerable  when  the  heart 
yearns  to  be  alone  with  the  holy  thoughts  which  the  place 
inspires."  So,  after  the  priest  in  attendance  had  shown  us 
over  the  garden,  Ralph  spoke  a  few  words  apart  with  him, 
and  by  the  additional  argument  of  a  little  gold  contrived  to 
obtain  for  us  half  an  hour  undisturbed  therein.  And  it  was 
half  an  hour  of  such  communion  as  neither  time  nor  cir- 
cumstances can  ever  cause  me  to  forget.  The  garden  is  in- 
closed by  a  high  wall,  and  the  priest  pointed  out  to  us  the 
rock  upon  which  the  disciples  slept,  who  went  to  watch 
with  the  Saviour  on  the  night  of  his  betrayal ;  the  grotto 
in  the  rock  "a  little  way  apart "  where  he  went  to  pray; 
and  the  spot  whereon  he  stood  when  betrayed  to  the  multi- 
tude by  the  traitor  kiss  of  Judas.  Eight  large  olive-trees 
are  within  the  inclosure ;  and  when  the  priest  had  left  us  I 
wandered  off  alone,  and,  seating  myself  upon  the  ground 
beneath  one  of  them,  let  my  mind  wander  back  to  that 
fatal  night  so  full  of  interest  and  fearful  import  to  the 
Christian  heart.  I  heard  him  say  to  the  disciples  who 
went  with  him  to  watch,  "My  soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful, 
even  unto  death:  tarry  ye  here,  and  watch  with  me."  I 
saw  him  with  slow  steps  depart,  and  watched  with  sorrow 
the  disciples  "heavy  with  sleep,"  sitting  upon  the  rock, 
waiting  for,  but,  alas!  not  watching  with,  their  agonizing 
Lord.  I  saw  the  tall  form,  bending  beneath  the  weight 
of  others'  sins,  wrestling  in  that  dread  agony  of  prayer, 
that  brought  redemption  to  a  fallen  world.  I  saw  the  great 

20* 


230 


BEECHWOOD. 


drops  of  sweat  and  blood  that  rolled  from  the  massive 
brow,  and  heard  the  earnest,  pleading  cry,  the  cry  of 
human  agony  and  godlike  faith,  "  O  my  Father,  if  it  be 
possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me :  nevertheless  not  as  I 
will,  but  as  thou  wilt,"  and  my  soul  echoed  in  earnest 
faith, — such  faith  as  I  never  before  had  felt, — "Not  my 
will,  but  thine  !"  And  with  the  hot  tears  stealing  down  my 
face,  I  prayed  in  that  holy  place  with  an  earnestness  and 
agony  that  I  never  before  had  felt:  "  Let  me,  my  Saviour, 
who  in  this  garden  hast  wrestled  in  bitterness  for  the  sins 
of  thy  people,  bear  hence  with  me  a  portion  of  that  blessed 
submission  to  the  Divine  Will  thou  hast  here  so  beautifully 
taught  us  ;^and  grant  that  /  may  never  be  found  sleeping 
when  I  should  have  watched  for  thy  coming^) 

I  went  forth  from  the  sacred  precincts  with  a  chastened 
and  subdued  heart,  and,  I  earnestly  trust,  more  grace  to 
help  me  in  the  duties  and  trials  of  life. 

Jerusalem  itself  is  old,  filthy,  and  dilapidated ;  and  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  that  it  ever  was  the  beautiful  city  so 
often  spoken  of  in  Holy  Writ.  I  could  not  wonder  that 
Christ,  foreseeing  its  desolation,  had  wept  over  it,  and 
cried,  in  his  anguish,  "O  Jerusalem!  Jerusalem!  which 
killest  the  prophets,  and  stonest  them  that  are  sent  unto 
thee,  how  often  would  I  have  gathered  thy  children  to- 
gether, as  a  hen  doth  gather  her  brood  under  her  wings, 
and  ye  would  not !" 

But,  fascinating  as  are  the  remembrances  of  these 
scenes,  I  must  not  linger.  Returning  from  our  trip  to 
Palestine,  we  came  by  way  of  Constantinople,  with  its 
mosques  and  palaces,  sailed  upon  the  Bosphorus,  and 
looked  upon  the  giant  men-of-war  that  thrid  the  very 
streets  of  the  great  Mohammedan  city.  Then,  partly  by 
water,  partly  by  rail,  up  to  Vienna,  and  on  to  Switzerland  ; 
lingering  amid  the  magnificently  grand  scenery  of  the  Alps, 


BEECHWOOD.  2^ 

sailing  upon  the  lakes  of  Constance  and  Geneva,  and  read- 
ing beneath  the  very  walls  of  Chillon's  gloomy  prison  its 
touchingly  beautiful  history,  made  so  renowned  by  Byron's 
gifted  pen  ;  traveled  slowly  through  Germany,  so  full  of 
history  and  renown,  spent  days  amid  the  old  castles  with 
which  it  abounds,  and  heard  legends  enough  to  almost  fill 
a  library  alone;  sailed  up  the  Rhine,  reveled  amid  its  mag- 
nificent scenery,  too  grand  and  varied  for  me  even  to  at- 
tempt a  description  here,  and  stood  at  last  in  the  Imperial 
Palace  at  St.  Petersburg,  unrivaled  in  its  magnificent  splen- 
dor by  any  in  the  world,  and  looked  with  awe  and  wonder 
on  the  great  bell  at  Moscow,  now  used  as  a  chapel,  that 
stands  near  the  base  of  the  immense  tower  of  Ivan  Veliki, 
and  is  well  worthy  of  its  title,  "The  King  of  Bells." 

At  last,  after  visiting  all  the  most  important  cities  of 
Northern  Europe,  we  found  ourselves  again,  late  in  No- 
vember, in  sunny  France,  and,  after  spending  two  months 
replete  with  interest  in  its  gay  metropolis,  took  passage 
for  our  own  sunny  land,  and  were  landed  safely  in  New 
York  upon  the  2ist  of  February,  having  been  absent  just 
one  year,  six  months,  and  five  days  from  dear  old  Beech- 
wood.  We  had  written  the  ship  we  expected  to  sail  upon, 
"The  Neptune,"  and  the  day  we  would  probably  reach 
New  York  ;  and  the  first  person  I  saw  as  we  drew  near  the 
pier  was  Charlie,  swinging  his  hat  aloft  to  us  from  a  pile 
of  boxes  on  the  dock,  and  the  next,  Uncle  Ralph,  standing, 
with  uplifted  hat,  serene  and  smiling,  beside  him.  And 
then,  in  spite  of  my  courage,  my  eyes  became  so  blurred 
I  could  see  no  more,  and  when  the  ship  struck  the  dock, 
and  a  moment  afterward  I  felt  myself  enfolded  in  loving 
arms,  I  could  do  nothing  but  sob  hysterically,  and  cling 
to  both  Uncle  Ralph  and  Charlie,  as  though  I  were  parting 
from  instead  of  meeting  with  them. 

Uncle  Ralph  only  folded  me  to  his  great  warm  heart,  in 


232 


BEECHWOOD. 


a  close  embrace,  and  whispered,  "God  bless  you,  my 
darling!"  while  Charlie — "still  Charlie,"  as  we  often 
called  him  at  home — seemed  half  wild  with  joy,  principally 
at  seeing  Ralph,  I  think,  for  never  were  two  brothers  more 
devotedly  attached  than  they. 

"How  is  mamma?  And  precious  Gertie?"  I  asked, 
when  I  could  get  Charlie  still  enough  to  listen  to  me  for  a 
moment. 

"  They  were  perfectly  well  when  Uncle  Ralph  and  I  left 
the  hotel,  about  two  hours  ago,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  Charlie,  do  you  really  mean  that  they  are  in  the 
city?"  I  cried,  delightedly. 

"Why,  certainly  they  are,"  he  retorted.  "Do  you 
think  Beechwood  would  not  turn  out  in  full  force  to  wel- 
come home  such  renowned  travelers  ?  Nettie  is  with  them 
too,  and  I  expect  Aunt  Martha  would  have  been,  if  she 
had  been  sure  that  Millie  could  have  gotten  up  a  dinner 
sufficiently  grand  for  your  reception,  without  her  efficient 
aid." 

"I  think  Ralph's  mantle  has  certainly  fallen  upon  you 
in  his  absence;  you  are  surely  more  like  him  than  like 
your  old  self,"  I  said,  laughingly. 

"  Well,  we  are  going  to  find  mamma.  You  old  folks  can 
follow  at  your  leisure,"  said  he,  dragging  Ralph  away,  and 
looking  back  laughingly  over  his  shoulder  at  us  as  they 
started.  Alas  !  he  looked  not  at  us  so  again.  We  saw  with 
horror-stricken  hearts  the  danger,  but  were  powerless  to 
avert  it.  He  was  passing  beneath  a  derrick,  by  which 
some  workmen  were  hoisting  a  huge  hogshead  of  sugar 
into  the  storehouse  above,  and,  some  part  of  the  machinery 
giving  way,  it  swayed  for  a  moment  unsteadily  in  the  air, 
thea  fell  with  its  ponderous  weight,  down,  down,  until  dear 
Charlie  lay  crushed  and  mangled  beneath  it.  Ralph  had 
but  an  instant  before  stepped  aside,  to  pick  up  his  hat, 


BEECHWOOD. 


233 


which  the  wind  had  blown  off,  and  was  saved  ;  but  Charlie,  * 
with  the  glad  laugh  and  merry  jest  upon  his  lips,  so  beau- 
tiful in  his  manliness  and  strength,  lay  bleeding  and  lifeless 
before  us. 

"Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  !"  I  cried,  covering  with  my 
hands  my  eyes  from  the  dreadful  sight ;  and  all  who  were 
present  rushed  simultaneously  to  the  spot,  to  aid  him  if  pos- 
sible. Poor  Ralph  was  by  him  in  an  instant,  and  his  piteous 
moan,  "Oh,  my  brother!  my  poor  brother !"  as  he  bent 
above  him,  wrung  every  heart. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  Uncle  Ralph  came,  pale,  but  calm, 
to  say,  hurriedly,  that  he  did  not  think  life  was  extinct,  to 
be  brave  and  hopeful,  and  he  would  soon  return  to  us. 
They  soon  raised  Charlie,  and  placed  him  upon  a  litter,  to 
convey  him  to  the  hotel  where  mamma  was  staying;  and,  as 
they  did  so,  a  faint  moan  apprised  us  that  he  lived,  and  felt 
the  suffering. 

"I  will  hasten  at  once  to  Fannie,  and,  if  possible,  pre- 
pare her  for  this,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  closing  the  carriage- 
door  upon  us. 

We  drove  slowly,  and  kept  close  to  the  curb,  while  the 
four  men  bearing  the  litter  walked  upon  the  pave,  with 
Ralph  close  by  Charlie's  side,  looking  from  time  to  time 
beneath  the  cover  to  see  if  he  yet  breathed.  I  never 
shall  forget  that  dreadful  drive.  Fortunately,  the  distance 
was  not  great,  and  we  soon  reached  the  house.  Uncle 
Ralph  waited  at  the  door  for  us,  saying  mamma  desired  a 
room  prepared  next  to  hers  for  Charlie,  where  she  waited 
to  receive  us. 

We  stopped  but  an  instant  in  the  hall  while  the  men  re- 
adjusted the  litter  preparatory  to  ascending  the  stairs,  and 
at  that  moment  Nettie,  who  had  heard  nothing  of  the  acci- 
dent, entered  from  the  street  from  a  walk  with  her  brother. 
She  caught  sight  of  my  face,  and  flew  to  greet  me,  when  her 


234 


BEECHWOOD. 


eyes  fell  upon  the  prostrate  form  and  pale  face  of  Charlie, 
and,  with  a  cry  such  as  I  never  shall  forget,  she  sank  faint- 
ing into  my  arms.  Uncle  Ralph  lifted  her  gently,  and, 
whispering  the  number  of  mamma's  room,  bade  me  run  up 
to  her,  which  I  eagerly  did,  he  bearing  Nettie  after  me  in 
his  powerful  arms,  Fannie  accompanying  him,  and  the  others 
following  slowly  with  Charlie. 

I  cannot  dwell  upon  my  meeting  with  mamma  and 
Gertie,  and  the  subsequent  events  of  that  dreadful  day, 
they  are  so  harrowing.  Upon  examination,  the  surgeon 
found  two  ribs  broken,  and  the  right  arm  and  leg  each 
fractured  in  two  places,  together  with  a  slight  fracture  of 
the  skull.  He  said  that  if  it  had  been  midsummer  he  would 
have  little  hope  of  his  recovery,  but  as  we  were  having  clear 
cold  weather  he  thought  it  barely  possible  he  might  rally. 
It  seemed  a  perfect  miracle  that  the  blow  did  not  kill  him 
instantly;  but  Uncle  Ralph  found  upon  after-examination 
that  a  heavy  beam  had  broken  the  force  of  the  blow,  and 
even  when  down  had  kept  the  greater  part  of  the  weight 
from  resting  upon  him.  Only  so  slight  a  thing  stood  be- 
tween dear  Charlie  and  death,  and  that,  too,  in  the  very 
hour  of  our  return. 

No  one  can  paint  the  anguish  of  that  night,  or  the 
dreadful  suspense  with  which  for  days  we  watched  the 
slightest  change  in  his  symptoms.  His  life  hung  as  upon  a 
slender  thread  which  the  slightest  breath  might  sever.. 
And  this  was  the  return  to  which  we  had  looked  forward 
so  eagerly, — this  was  our  welcome  home. 

"Nannie,"  said  Nettie,  opening  her  eyes  upon  me,  after 
her  long,  deathly  swoon,  on  the  day  of  the  accident,  and 
watching  me  wistfully  as  I  sat  beside  the  bed,  bathing  her 
hands  and  face  with  cologne,  "  what  has  happened?  Some- 
thing terrible,  I  know;  but  tell  me  only  one  thing:  does  he 
live?" 


BEECHWOOD.  235 

"  Yes,  dear,"  I  said,  soothingly.  "  The  surgeon  is  with 
him  still,  but  says  there  is  hope." 

"Thank  God!"  she  whispered,  the  tears  stealing  from 
beneath  her  closed  lids.  I  wondered  a  little  at  her  deep 
emotion,  although  I  knew  she  and  Charlie  were  great 
friends. 

At  last  she  said,  softly,  "Tell  me,  dear,  did  I  do  any- 
thing out  of  the  way  to-day  ?' ' 

"  Nothing  unnatural,  considering  the  circumstances  and 
your  warm  friendship  for  Charlie." 

"Ah,  Nannie,  it  is  something  more  than  that." 

"Is  it  indeed  so,  dear?"  I  said,  kissing  her  tenderly. 
And  then,  willing  to  divert  her  mind  and  my  own,  I  added, 
"  I  was  scarcely  prepared  for  this,  pleasant  as  it  is.  I  have 
long  set  you  aside  for  Ralph ;  but  Charlie  was  ever  so  quiet, 
I  half  doubted  his  ever  wooing  and  wedding  any  one." 

"  We  have  always  loved  each  other,  but  agreed  to  say 
nothing  of  it  until  he  had  settled  in  his  profession.  Ralph 
has  known  it  all  along,  but  no  one  else ;  everything  was  so 
uncertain.  He  has  helped  to  screen  our  preference." 

"And  Ralph  has  known  it  all  the  time?  That  accounts 
for  his  thinking  ever  so  much  of  you,  and  yet  always  more 
as  he  would  of  Gertie  or  me,  than  as  we  so  earnestly  de- 
sired." 

At  this  moment  mamma  entered  from  Charlie's  room, 
and  I  eagerly  asked  for  him,  while  Nettie  raised  herself  in 
the  bed  and  turned  her  great  eyes  wistfully  to  mamma, 
but  did  not  speak. 

"  He  is  conscious,  I  think,"  she  said,  "  although  he  says 
very  little.  Fortunately,  the  injuries  upon  the  head  are  but 
slight."  Then  she  went  to  the  bed  and  drew  Nettie's  head 
upon  her  breast,  and,  smoothing  her  hair  back  from  the 
pale  forehead,  and  kissing  it  again  and  again  with  trem- 
bling lips,  said,  softly, — 


236  BEECHWOOD. 

"We  must  all  be  brave,  my  darling,  and  I  trust  it  will 
yet  be  well.  What  is  it  the  pleading  eyes  ask  so  tenderly 
of  me?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Cleve,"  said  Nettie,  clinging  lovingly  to 
her,  "I  have  no  mother, — guide  me.  What  may  I  do  for 
Charlie  ?  Must  he  lie  and  suffer  without  my  being  per- 
mitted to  do  anything  for  him?  He  has  told  you  all; 
advise  me." 

"No,  dear,  my  presence  will  shield  you  ever.  If  you 
will  promise  to  be  calm  and  hopeful  and  to  do  nothing 
to  excite  him  in  any  way,  you  may  see  him  daily.  You 
may  read  to  him,  bring  him  flowers,  make  him  refreshing 
drinks,  and  cheer  him  all  you  can,  if  God  but  spares  him 
to  us." 

"Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you!"  said  Nettie,  fervently. 
"  When  may  I  see  him  ?" 

"As  soon  as  it  will  be  at  all  prudent.  His  life  depends 
upon  our  care :  nothing  must  be  done  that  will  in  the  least 
excite  him." 

"May  I  not  look  an  instant  upon  him  to-night,  as  he 
sleeps?"  she  asked,  so  piteously  that  mamma  kissed  her 
again  and  promised. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  after  the  first  few  days  Nettie 
shared  mamma's  labors  as  nurse,  Charlie  never  being  satis- 
fied a  moment  when  she  was  out  of  his  sight.  And  he 
gained  wonderfully  fast,  considering  his  dangerous  wounds, 
a  fact  which  speaks  volumes  for  the  power  of  love  over  the 
ills  of  the  flesh. 

You  are  not  to  suppose,  dear  old  book,  that  because  I 
have  been  silent  about  our  Gertie  all  this  while  either  she 
or  I  had  been  silent  long  ourselves,  when  together.  She 
had  so  much  to  tell  me  about  home  and  Ellis  and  Aunt 
Martha,  and  a  hundred  other  things,  that  we  never  lost 
a  moment  when  alone.  Ellis,  she  contended,  was  the 


BEECHWOOD. 


237 


very  best  man  that  ever  lived,  and  surely  the  dearest  hus- 
band that  woman  ever  had  ;  she  only  wished  she  was  more 
worthy  of  him.  He  had  sent  so  much  love,  but  Father 
White — dear  old  man ! — having  died  in  our  absence,  the 
labors  of  the  parish  had  fallen  entirely  upon  Ellis,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  leave  home  at  this  time,  else  he  too 
would  have  accompanied  her  to  the  city.  The  parishioners 
had  refitted  the  parsonage,  and  it  was  a  perfect  little  bird's- 
nest ;  and  now  that  I  had  come  they  should  move  into  it 
at  once.  Then  she  told  me  how  ill  mamma  had  been  some 
months  before, — they  had  never  written  me  a  word  of  it, — 
and  how  Uncle  Ralph  begged  that  the  news  might  be  with- 
held from  us  until  she  was  better,  asserting  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  us  to  reach  home  in  any  event  before  a 
change  had  taken  place;  how  the  two  doctors  that  were 
called  both  gave  her  up,  and  how  Charlie  all  the  time  felt 
confident  he  could  relieve  her, — having  embraced  the  doc- 
trines of  the  new  school  of  Hahnemann,  so  different  from 
their  own, — and  how,  when  they  declined  doing  more,  he 
had  actually  taken  the  case,  encouraged  by  Uncle  Ralph, 
and  succeeded  in  raising  her  up,  as  it  were,  from  the  grave 
itself.  No  wonder  his  heart  was  light  and  his  face  happy : 
to  have  saved  mamma, — precious,  darling  mamma.  And 
Uncle  Ralph,  she  said,  never  left  the  house  day  or  night  till 
she  was  better.  He  seemed  omnipresent.  Surely,  next  to 
Ellis,  he  was  the  most  wonderful,  the  very  best  man  in  all 
the  land. 

Fannie  and  Mr.  Grinnel  stayed  only  two  days  in  the  city, 
so  anxious  were  they  to  reach  their  Western  home  and  the 
dear  ones  therein.  At  the  expiration  of  ten  days  Charlie 
was  so  much  better  that  it  was  decided  that  Gertie  and 
I  should  proceed  with  Uncle  Ralph  to  Beechwood,  while 
Ralph  and  mamma  should  remain  till  he  was  well  enough 
to  be  removed.  Nettie,  having  friends  in  the  city,  was  to 

21 


238  BEECHWOOD. 

stay  with  them,  and  spend  a  portion  of  every  day  at  the 
hotel  with  mamma, — a  plan  which  greatly  pleased  Charlie, 
who  seemed  to  live  but  in  her  presence. 

One  day,  as  Gertie  and  I  were  starting  out  for  a  walk,  a 
few  steps  from  the  door  we  came  face  to  face  with  Nettie 
and  Hal.  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  quietly  I  took  his 
hand,  and  how  calmly  I  answered  all  his  inquiries  and  told 
little  incidents  of  my  travel,  as  they  turned  and  walked 
beside  us.  I  had  looked  searchingly  and  narrowly  into 
my  heart  often  during  our  absence,  and  had  become  con- 
vinced that  although  I  had  loved  Hal  purely  and  tenderly 
it  was  not  with  the  love  a  woman  should  accord  the  man 
she  expects  or  desires  to  wed.  Again  and  again  had 
Sallie's  scornful  words  rung  in  my  ears, — "How  could 
he  hope  to  win  from  a  child's  heart  a  woman's  love?" — 
until  now  I  was  convinced  it  was  indeed  impossible.  I 
was  convinced  his  was  not  the  hand  that  was  to  stir  my 
heart's  depths.  (Perhaps  no  hand  would  ever  reach  them; 
but,  if  so,  I  should  surely  live  alone.  \  But,  in  spite  of  my 
convictions,  I  half  feared  I  could  not  stand  the  test  of 
meeting  him  face  to  face.  I  trembled  lest  the  old  yearning 
should  return,  and  leave  me  helpless  and  miserable  as  be- 
fore. But  I  touched  his  hand,  I  walked  beside  him,  I 
looked  with  confidence  into  his  eyes, — the  same  deep  eyes 
that  so  often  had  looked  love  into  mine, — and  felt  I  could 
walk  thus  calmly  in  his  presence  forever,  without  one 
quickened  heart-throb,  or  one  sigh  of  regret  for  the  past. 
My  idol  was  shattered.  My  eyes  no  longer  looked  upon 
things  as  I  desired  they  should  be,  but  as  they  in  reality 
were.  I  saw  in  him  no  longer  the  noble  being  I  had  wor- 
shiped, but  the  gay  man  of  the  world,  handsome,  and 
courted  by  all,  finding  his  highest  pleasure  in  the  world's 
mad  whirl,  and  making  fashion  and  pleasure  his  chosen 
divinities.  What  he  felt  I  know  not,  I  do  not  desire  to 


BEECHWOOD.  2,9 

know ;  but  Nettie  told  me  only  yesterday  she  believed  he 
would  yet  marry  Sallie,  though  for  months  after  my  de- 
parture he  could  not  bear  to  enter  her  presence.  My  only 
reply  was,  "It  is  well:  we  never  were  suited  for  one 
another,"  and  the  subject  dropped  between  us,  I  trust 
forever. 


We  found  dear  old  Beechwood  the  same  as  ever,  only,  if 
anything,  more  beautiful.  All  the  beauties  and  fascinations 
of  the  Old  World  had  only  made  us  cling  with  more  fervor 
to  our  own  sunny  home  in  "the  land  beyond  the  sea." 
Gertie  and  I  ran,  like  eager  children,  to  every  nook  and 
corner  in  the  place,  the  first  day,  which  was  sunny  and 
warm,  a  regular  harbinger  of  spring.  We  visited  the  lawn, 
the  orchard,  the  grove,  the  spring  under  the  hill,  the 
ponies,  and  finally  returned,  much  to  Aunt  Martha's  de- 
light, laden  with  fresh-laid  eggs,  that  we  had  pilfered 
from  the  poultry-yard. 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  that  good  old  dame.  "I  ex- 
pected you  would  return  a  grand  lady,  with  your  head  so 
full  of  furren  travel  that  you  would  have  eyes  and  ears 
for  nothing  else ;  and  here  are  you  and  Gertie  romping 
about  Like  two  bright  children,  and  coming  back  to  me 
with  your  dainty  aprons  full  of  eggs,  just  as  you  used  to 
years  ago." 

"  Never  fear,  Aunt  Martha,  that  anything  can  ever  make 
me  indifferent  to  Beechwood  or  any  of  its  beloved  in- 
mates, much  less  to  the  delicious  rolls  that  I  am  sure  your 
skillful  hands  will  manufacture  from  these  same  eggs,  just 
as  you  used  to  do  in  the  olden  time." 

"Deary  me!  the  child  forgets  nothing;  not  even  my 
rolls  !"  was  her  gratified  reply,  as  she  patted  me  lovingly 
upon  the  shoulder. 


2  40  BEECHWOOD. 

"Oh,"  called  Gertie,  joyously,  "Ellis  is  coming!"  and 
away  she  bounded  down  the  avenue  to  meet  him.  We  had 
not  written  him  the  day  of  our  return,  and,  when  we  reached 
the  house,  found,  much  to  her  grief,  that  he  was  away  attend- 
ing to  his  duties ;  and  now  when  she  saw  him  coming  she  was 
like  a  bird  freed  from  its  cage.  Nearly  two  weeks  since  she 
had  seen  him :  no  wonder  she  was  glad  !  He  quickened  his 
steps  to  meet  her,  opened  his  arms  and  caught  her  to  his  heart, 
and,  bending  his  tall  form -lovingly  above  her,  whispered 
in  glad  surprise  that  which  was  enough  to  brighten  her  eyes 
and  bring  the  roses  to  her  cheeks  as  she  came  to  me,  lean- 
ing upon  his  arm,  with  her  hand  tightly  clasped  in  his  own. 
He  gave  me  a  warm,  brotherly  greeting,  and  before  the 
evening  was  half  spent  I  was  fully  satisfied  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  Gertie's  choice.  Let  him  converse  of  what  he  would, 
his  eye  followed  her  movements  and  his  hand  was  ever 
ready  to  anticipate  her  wants.  Uncle  Ralph  gave  him  the 
utmost  confidence  and  love,  which  I  felt  assured  undeserv- 
ingly he  could  not  have  obtained. 

And  so  the  days  sped  on,  full  of  pleasant  hours  and  in- 
cidents, that  I  may  not  take  the  time  to  record  here,  until, 
one  balmy  day  in  spring,  when  all  nature  was  full  of 
gladness,  Charlie  walked  in,  leaning  a  little  heavily  upon 
a  crutch,  but  otherwise  well  and  happy.  The  surgeon  had 
warned  us  that  he  would  probably  be  lame  for  life ;  but 
this  we  were  thankful  to  accept,  so  long  as  his  life  was 
spared. 

"Oh,"  said  Aunt  Martha,  sitting  down  with  her  apron 
to  her  eyes,  and  crying,  half  in  joy  at  his  return  and  half 
in  sorrow  at  his  misfortune,  "to  think  of  his  ever  being 
brought  to  this  !  So  comely  and  beautiful, — to  go  upon  a 
crutch  for  life  !  Ah,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful !" 

Gertie  and  I  had  often  spoken  of  how  brave  we  meant 
to  be,  for  Charlie's  sake,  when  he  returned,  and  never  let 


BEECHWOOD. 


241 


him  see  us  grieve  at  all  over  his  misfortune.  So  now  I 
spoke  up  bravely  and  said,  "But  see,  Aunt  Martha,  how 
well  he  looks  !"  and  then  I  too  broke  down  and  could  say 
no  more.  The  sight  of  the  dear,  handsome  fellow  stand- 
ing there  before  us  maimed  for  life  was  too  much  for  me : 
my  eyes  blurred,  my  voice  faltered,  and  if  mamma  and 
Ralph  had  not  entered  just  then,  I  know  not  what  I  should 
have  done.  Gertie  too,  and  Ellis,  entered  at  the  same 
moment  from  another  door,  and  there  were  happy  greetings 
from  every  side;  only  I  saw  poor  Gertie's  heart  was  as  full 
as  my  own  when  she  looked  upon  the  tall,  manly  form 
standing  so  quietly  leaning  upon  his  crutch. 

"Do  sit  down,  dear  Charlie,"  I  said.  And  Ralph 
wheeled  a  great  chair  to  his  side. 

"  Thank  you;  I  have  a  fancy  to  sit  over  there  by  Auut 
Martha  upon  the  sofa,"  said  Charlie,  gayly,  at  the  same 
moment  dropping  his  crutch  and  stalking  boldly  and  inde- 
pendently across  the  room  to  her  side.  Oh,  what  a  joyous 
shout  arose  as  Gertie  and  I,  aided  and  abetted  by  Aunt 
Martha,  clung  to  him,  hysterically  laughing  and  crying  by 
turns,  till  at  last,  after  returning  our  caresses  most  fondly, 
he  called  aloud  to  Ralph, — 

"  See  here,  Ralph,  have  you  no  compassion  for  a  man,  to 
let  him  be  suffocated  in  this  manner,  even  though  it  be 
with  sweets,  here  in  your  presence?" 

"Ah,"  said  Aunt  Martha,  "how  true  it  is  that  'the 
darkest  hour  is  just  before  day ' ! " 

"But  who,"  said  Gertie,  laughing,  "would  have  be- 
lieved our  Charlie  such  a  'gay  deceiver'  ?" 

"Who  indeed?"  said  Aunt  Martha.  "And  practiced 
upon  his  old  aunt  too !  I  really  believe  he  cannot  have 
any  of  my  cream  muffins  for  tea,"  a  dish  of  which  he  was 
particularly  fond. 

"Now,  dear  Aunt  Martha,  you  surely  would  not  be  so 
21* 


242 


BEECHWOOD. 


cruel !  You  know  I  only  wanted  to  find  out  how  well  you 
loved  me,"  said  Charlie,  standing  in  little  awe  of  her 
threat,  well  knowing  that  the  house  and  place  would  be 
ransacked,  as  well  as  her  brain,  to  conjure  up  delicacies 
with  which  to  tempt  him. 

"Saucy  boy  !"  she  answered,  shaking  her  finger  at  him 
as  she  disappeared  through  the  dqor  leading  toward  the 
kitchen,  going,  we  all  knew,  to  prepare  for  him  the  very 
delicacy  she  had  threatened  to  withhold. 

"Oh,  how  good  God  is  to  us  !"  I  said  to  mamma  that 
night,  as  I  sat  talking  upon  the  side  of  her  bed  for  hours 
after  she  had  retired, — the  first  really  good  talk  I  had  had 
with  her  since  my  return.  "How  good  he  is  to  spare 
you,  precious  mamma,  to  us  in  our  absence,  and  now  to 
raise  dear  Charlie  to  us  again  !" 

"And  to  bring  my  loving  daughter  back  to  me,"  she 
added,  "and  happy  too,  I  trust." 

"  Very  happy,  dear  mamma,"  I  whispered,  softly;  "  or, 
at  any  rate,  not  in  the  least  unhappy.  I  am  perfectly  sure 
the  past  throws  no  shadows  over  my  present  life." 

"Oh,  darling,  you  cannot  tell  how  happy  your  words 
make  me!"  she  said.  And  then  I  told  her  all  my  con- 
victions and  my  doubts,  and  finally  of  my  meeting  with 
Hal  when  in  New  York,  and  the  effect  produced. 

"It  is  true,  dear  mamma,"  I  said,  in  conclusion,  "  that 
the  past  has  left  its  scar  upon  my  life.  <^Such  things  can- 
not occur  and  leave  us  as  though  they  had  not  been,  for 
memory  remains,  and  she  is  a  stern  warderj  but  I  am 
thoroughly  convinced  that  I  am  happier  thus  than  if  all 
had  proceeded  in  the  original  course  marked  out.  It  is 
but  one  more  grave  to  look  back  upon  in  life's  journey; 
but  it  is  one  above  which  I  shall  never  weep." 

"  God  is  indeed  good,"  whispered  mamma,  as  she  kissed 
me  good-night;  and  my  slumbers  were  sweet  and  dreamless. 


BEECHWOOD.  243 

Uncle  Ralph  spent  much  of  his  time  at  Beechwood, 
coming  and  going,  as  in  the  olden  times.  Especially  while 
mamma  was  absent,  he  came  daily  to  see  that  all  was  well, 
— sometimes  staying  but  a  few  moments,  sometimes  lin- 
gering for  hours.  I  had  written  to  him  frequently  in  my 
absence,  feeling  that  the  ban  to  my  so  doing  was  removed, 
and  receiving  ever  in  reply  pages  of  such  lofty  sentiments 
and  kind  advice  as  could  but  purify  and  elevate  my  heart. 
I  never  was  so  happy  as  when  listening  to  and  conversing 
with  him;  and  Gertie  and  I  craved  no  greater  pleasure 
than  to  steal  him  away  for  a  ramble  with  us  over  the  hills, 
or  a  ride  in  the  early  morning  upon  the  ponies. 

One  evening,  a  few  weeks  after  mamma  had  come,  he 
came  out  to  me  in  the  garden,  where  I  was  sprinkling  the 
flowers,  and  said, — 

"Come,  Nannie,  get  your  hat,  and  let  us  improve 
this  balmy  air,  by  a  walk  over  to  Gertie's."  She  was 
then  living  in  the  parsonage,  about  half  a  mile  distant 
from  us. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  I  answered,  running  to  fetch 
my  hat. 

Mamma  and  he  were  conversing  beside  the  gate,  when  I 
returned;  she  kissed  me  tenderly  as  I  passed  forth,  and 
handed  me  a  tiny  basket  of  delicacies  for  Gertie.  Uncle 
Ralph's  face  wore  such  a  look  as  I  had  never  seen  but  once 
before  upon  it;  the  tender,  wistful  look  with  which  he  bent 
above  me  on  the  evening  of  the  day  he  had  rescued  me 
at  the  beach. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Ralph,"  I  said,  clinging  to  his  arm,  and 
looking  up  gratefully  into  his  face,  "you  never  will  allow 
me  to  speak  to  you  of  the  day  you  saved  my  life ;  but  to- 
night you  must,  indeed  you  must.  My  heart  is  so  full  of 
love  and  gratitude  that  it  will  not  be  denied.  Where 
would  I  have  been  but  for  yoqr  strong  arm  and  loving 


244 


BEECHWOOD. 


heart?  Food  for  fishes, — and  my  bones,  miles  away, 
bleaching  among  the  coral." 

"  My  darling!"  he  said,  shuddering  a  moment  convul- 
sively, and  taking  the  hand  that  lay  upon  his  arm  in  his 
own  strong  one. 

We  walked  on  a  moment  in  silence ;  then,  as  we  drew 
near  the  stile  that  leads  across  the  field  to  Gertie's,  he 
stopped  in  the  thick  shadows  of  the  overhanging  trees,  and, 
laying  his  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  and  looking  me 
earnestly  in  the  face  with  his  great,  wistful  eyes,  said, 
softly, — 

"I  did  more  for  myself,  darling,  than  for  you.  At  least 
I  trust  time  will  so  prove  it." 

The  tone,  the  manner,  the  words,  were  all  unlike  Uncle 
Ralph,  or  at  least  unlike  his  way  of  speaking  to  me ;  but, 
before  I  could  find  words  to  answer,  being  myself  a  little 
confused  by  his  manner,  I  saw  the  fragile  form  of  a  woman, 
that  I  had  noticed  creeping  slowly  along  toward  us  from 
the  village,  approach  and  sit  down  languidly  upon  the  stile 
near  us.  The  face  had  a  familiar  look  upon  it,  yet  for  the 
life  of  me  I  could  not  say  to  whom  it  belonged.  It  had 
once  been  beautiful,  I  could  plainly  see ;  but  now  the  lips 
were  compressed  and  colorless,  the  eyes  were  sunken  and 
languid,  and  over  it  all  was  a  look  of  such  inexpressible 
sadness  that  my  heart  was  at  once  deeply  touched. 

"  Who  can  it  be?"  I  whispered  to  Uncle  Ralph. 

"A  stranger;  but  one  evidently  in  need  of  friends. 
Let  us  approach." 

We  did  so,  and  I  said,  kindly,  "  Are  you  ill,  my  poor 
girl?"  she  looked  so  young  and  helpless. 

She  looked  at  me  searchingly  a  moment,  with  a  glance 
that  made  my  heart  throb  strangely,  and,  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands,  sobbed  aloud, — 

"  Have  you  indeed  forgotten  me?" 


BEECHWOOD.  245 

The  voice  confirmed  the  impression  the  glance  had  con- 
veyed, and  in  another  instant  I  had  her  folded  in  my  arms, 
dropping  hot  tears  above  her,  as  I  said, — 

"Oh!  is  it  indeed  precious  Minnie,  returned  to  us  at 
last?" 

"Yes,  Nannie,"  she  answered,  through  her  choking 
tears,  "returned  to  you  to  die." 

"No,  no,  darling;  we  will  soon  make  you  well  at 
Beechwood.  Won't  we,  Uncle  Ralph?" 

"1  am  sure  nothing  will  be  left  undone  to  accomplish 
that  end.  But  have  you  walked  far  to-day,  my  child  ? 
You  look  weary  and  languid,"  he  said,  kindly,  taking  her 
hand. 

"Only  from  the  end  of  the  avenue  here.  I  rode  that  far 
in  the  coach,  but  it  goes  no  farther  this  way." 

"  Do  you  feel  able  to  walk  to  the  house?  or  will  you  sit 
here  with  Nannie  till  I  go  for  the  carriage?" 

"Oh,  I  can  walk,"  she  said,  eagerly;  but  I  replied, 
emphatically,  seeing  her  pallid  looks, — 

"  No,  it  will  take  longer  for  us  to  walk  than  if  the  car- 
riage came;  and  you  are  already  weary.  Then  Uncle 
Ralph  can  tell  them  you  are  coming,  and  mamma  will 
have  a  little  fire  made;  for  the  evenings  are  chilly." 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  "that  is  best;  and,  as  I 
can  walk  much  faster  without  my  coat,  and  you  may  feel 
chilly,  sitting  so  long,  if  you  will  allow  me;"  and  he  drew 
off  his  coat  and  adjusted  it  carefully  about  Minnie's  shoul- 
ders. She  looked  up  at  him  gratefully,  but  did  not  dare 
to  speak. 

When  he  had  gone,  I  drew  forth  Gertie's  little  basket, 
so  carefully  prepared  by  mamma,  and  said, — 

"  Come,  dear  Minnie,  I  am  sure  the  walk  has  made  you 
hungry,  as  well  as  myself;  we  will  eat  Gertie's  delicacies, 
and  to-morrow,  together,  carry  her  more." 


246  BEECHIVOOD. 

I  spoke  gayly,  for  I  saw  her  heart  would  bear  no  tender- 
ness ;  and  I  also  saw,  by  the  eager  look  in  her  eyes  as  I 
opened  the  basket,  that  she  was  faint  from  fasting. 

"  Let  me  see, — here  is  some  blanc-mange,  and  a  glass  of 
currant  jelly;  and,  as  I  live,  some  of  Aunt  Martha's  cream 
muffins;  do  try  one,  Minnie  ;"  and  I  handed  her  out  the 
dainty  cake.  She  ate  it  eagerly,  and  I  pretended  to  do  the 
same.  "  Now  try  another;  and  I  will  make  an  impromptu 
spoon  for  the  blanc-mange,  for  here  is  a  little  bottle  of 
vanilla-cream  all  ready  for  it,  you  see."  I  went  on,  by 
way  of  explanation,  and  to  keep  her  from  trying  to  talk : 
"Gertie  has  just  gone  to  housekeeping;  and,  at  the  rate 
mamma  and  Aunt  Martha  furnish  her  table  with  delicacies, 
she  will  never  learn  to  make  them  for  herself.  She  lives 
just  over  there,  in  the  little  cottage  amid  the  trees. 
There!"  showing  the  wooden  spoon  I  had  rudely  carved 
from  a  beechen  chip  with  my  penknife,  "there,  I  guess 
now  we  can  have  the  blanc-mange  !  You  eat  that,  while 
I  devour  my  muffin.  I  don't  care  at  all  for  blanc-mange  ;" 
a  righteous  fib,  for  which  I  trust  I  may  be  forgiven,  under 
the  circumstances.  By  the  time  she  was  done  eating  it, 
Uncle  Ralph  came  with  the  carriage,  and  expressed  him- 
self delighted  at  seeing  her  looking  so  much  refreshed. 

"Oh,  you  see,"  said  I,  laughing,  "we  had  nothing  else 
to  do,  so  we  broke  into  mamma's  basket  to  Gertie,  and 
devoured  its  contents.  My  walk  had  made  me  ravenously 
hungry.  It  was  well  you  were  not  here  to  share  the  spoils. 
I  assure  you,  you  would  not  have  had  the  lion's  share,  by 
any  means;  would  he,  Minnie?" 

Minnie  smiled  faintly  and  shook  her  head,  and  I  rattled 
away  merrily  till  we  reached  the  house.  Anything,  I 
thought,  to  give  the  poor  weary  heart  time  to  compose 
itself. 

Mamma,  Aunt  Martha,  Ralph,  and  Charlie  all  met  us 


BEECHWOOD.  9A» 

247 

at  the  gate,  and  gave  Minnie  a  joyous,  happy  greeting, — 
the  same  as  though  she  had  come  to  us  in  happiness  and 
splendor ;  but  nothing  could  quiet  the  overwrought  nerves. 
She  clung  to  mamma,  and  sobbed  and  moaned  upon  her 
neck,  until  every  heart  was  wrung  at  the  sight  of  her  an- 
guish. But  after  a  little  the  storm  of  grief  gave  way,  and 
she  became  more  calm,  and  allowed  herself  to  be  led  into 
the  house,  where  everything  possible  for  her  comfort  had 
already  been  done. 

For  several  days  after  her  arrival  she  was  unable  to  leave 
her  room,  but  then  she  began  to  rally,  little  by  little,  till  at 
last  she  could  come,  for  part  of  the  day,  with  us,  below-stairs. 

Her  story  was  a  sadly  pitiful  one,  as  gleaned  from  her; 
though  she  still  strove  not  to  throw  any  more  blame  than 
she  could  not  possibly  avoid  upon  her  miserable  husband. 
After  the  first  few  weeks,  it  seems,  he  became  arbitrary  and 
unkind,  compelling  her  to  do  many  things  against  which 
her  womanly  pride  and  delicacy  rebelled, — taking  her  to 
places  of  low  amusement,  from  which  she  shrank,  and 
compelling  her  to  go  to  his  sister's,  after  he  had  recklessly 
spent  her  own  small  fortune,  to  ask  for  pecuniary  favors 
that  he  knew  would  be  refused  to  himself.  And  then,  at 
last,  when  a  little  daughter  came  to  them,  near  the  close 
of  the  first  year,  he  seemed  jealous  of  the  attention  she 
lavished  upon  it,  and  would  often  take  it  from  her  arms 
and  send  it  away  from  the  house,  by  the  nurse,  when  she 
knew  it  was  suffering  for  sustenance.  At  last  his  family, 
utterly  worn  out  with  his  low  life,  threw  him  off  altogether, 
and  would  listen  to  no  more  appeals  for  aid ;  and  after 
that  he  would  often  go  away  for  months  together,  leaving 
her  with  no  means  of  sustenance  whatever  for  herself  and 
babe.  Then  the  poor  child  worked,  early  and  late,  with 
her  needle,  gaining  the  merest  pittance  thereby ;  and  when 
a  second  little  one  came,  at  the  end  of  another  year,  her 


248  BEECHWOOD. 

health  failed  completely  under  her  cares,  and  consumption, 
hereditary  in  her  father's  family,  began  its  work  upon  her 
vitals.  Her  children  were  her  only  comfort ;  and  when,  a 
few  weeks  previous  to  her  appearance  among  us,  her  hus- 
band brutally  threatened  to  take  them  from  her  and  send 
them  to  the  orphan-asylum  in  New  York,  she  stole  from 
home  during  his  absence,  with  her  little  ones,  determined 
to  die  rather  than  return  to  him.  She  had  a  little  money, 
from  the  sale  of  her  mother's  jewels,  to  which  she  had 
clung  to  the  last,  and,  going  about  fifty  miles  from  Bos- 
ton, where  she  had  fled  from  her  brutal  husband,  she  left  the 
train  at  a  little  village  and  under  a  feigned  name  sought 
employment.  But  it  was  hard  to  get  work,  encumbered  as 
she  was  with  her  two  children;  and  when  at  last  a  kind- 
hearted  farmer's  wife  took  them  in,  the  little  ones  were  so 
ill  from  fatigue  and  exposure  that  they  grew  rapidly  worse, 
and  died  within  a  few  days  of  each  other. 

The  people  were  very  kind  to  her,  it  seems,  caring  for 
her  and  her  little  girls  and  aiding  her  in  giving  them 
decent  burial.  She  stayed  and  worked  all  that  she  could 
for  the  good  woman  of  the  house,  until  she  found  her  life 
was  waning,  and  knew  that  she  had  but  a  little  while  to 
live.  Then  a  yearning  desire  to  see  us  all  once  more  took 
possession  of  her,  and  she  one  day  unfolded  her  history  to 
the  kind  woman  who  had  so  befriended  her ;  and  she  was 
so  touched  with  her  misfortunes  that  she  gave  her  money 
for  her  journey  and  started  her  to  us.  But  the  money  was 
not  quite  sufficient ;  and  when  she  reached  our  village  she 
had  eaten  nothing  for  nearly  twenty-four  hours,  and  was 
ready  to  fall  when  she  met  us.  The  mail-coachman  had 
kindly  brought  her  from  the  village  to  our  avenue,  a  dis- 
tance of  perhaps  two  miles ;  and  she  had  started  to  walk 
alone  the  other  mile  to  the  house.  How  she  would  have 
fared  had  we  not  met  her,  God  only  knows. 


BEECHWOOD.  249 

She  seemed  to  rally  considerably  for  a  time ;  and  every 
pleasant  day  Ralph  would  come  from  the  village  and  take 
her,  sometimes  with  mamma,  sometimes  with  me  beside 
her,  for  a  short  drive;  and  it  was  touching  to  see  how 
tenderly  he  would  lift  her  from  the  carriage, — often,  when 
the  ground  was  at  all  damp,  bearing  her  in  his  strong  arms 
into  the  hall.  She  greatly  feared  that  her  husband  would 
learn  her  whereabouts  and  come  and  claim  her.  I  said  so 
one  day  in  Ralph's  presence. 

"Never  fear,"  said  Ralph,  impetuously:  "if  he  ever 
comes  about  this  house,  he  will  not  long  have  life  enough 
left  in  him  to  carry  her  away." 

"  'Thou  shalt  not  kill!'  "  said  mamma,  solemnly.  "I 
cannot  bear  to  hear  you  talk  thus,  Ralph." 

"Well,  mamma,  for  your  sake  I  shall  say  no  more,  and 
shall  try  my  best  to  restrain  myself,  if  he  ever  does  come ; 
(but  I  do  hope  you  will  not  object  to  my  at  least  trying 
upon  him  the  strength  of  my  boot.)'  Jl/  ; 

But  her  fears  were  not  to  be  realized  j  for  we  received 
word  from  Charlie,  who  had  gone  to  New  York  on  business  a 
little  while  before,  that  Colonel  Leslie  had  been  found  dead 
in  his  room,  his  brains  blown  out  by  his  own  hand.  We  did 
not  tell  Minnie  the  manner  of  his  death,  but  only  that  he 
had  died;  and  her  piteous  cry,  "May  God  be  merciful 
to  him!"  was  sad  to  hear.  She  asked  no  questions,  and 
never  spoke  his  name  after  the  first  hour,  seeming  to  wish 
to  forget  his  errors,  and,  if  possible,  his  very  existence. 

She  seemed  for  a  time  to  rally,  but  it  was  a  deceitful 
strength.  It  began  to  fail,  little  by  little,  till  at  last  she 
scarcely  left  her  room  at  all ;  and  then  we  took  to  sitting 
with  her  there,  sometimes  one  of  us,  oftener  all ;  for  when 
alone  she  fell  into  the  deepest  melancholy.  She  often  spoke 
of  her  parents  and  her  dear  little  girls  in  the  tenderest 
manner,  and  expressed  a  wish  that  her  children  could  have 

22 


250 


BEECHWOOD. 


slept  beside  her.  This  mamma  promised  should  be,  if  she 
did  not  recover ;  they  could  easily  be  moved  to  Beech- 
wood  ;  and  it  seemed  to  gratify  her  much. 

One  day  it  was  sultry,  and  she  slept,  and  I,  weary  with 
reading  aloud,  threw  myself  upon  a  lounge  that  stood  in 
one  corner  of  the  room,  and  dropped  asleep  also.  When 
I  awakened,  she  was  sitting  in  her  easy-chair  beside  the 
window,  evidently  unconscious  of  my  presence,  for  she  sat 
with  clasped  hands  looking  sadly  out  upon  the  beautiful 
clouds  in  the  west  that  waited  for  the  sunset.  I  was  about 
to  speak  to  her,  when  she  arose,  and,  pacing  the  room  with 
feeble  steps  and  with  hands  clasped  tightly  together,  began 
in  a  low,  weird  voice  to  sing  the  following  strain  :  — 

Lonely,  lonely !  my  heart  sobs  the  livelong  day  ; 
Lonely,  lonely  !  it  whispers  and  moans  alway. 
Buried  are  all  my  heart  held  dear, 

In  dust  and  ashes  they  lie, 
While  lone  I  pursue  life's  pathway  drear, 

Alone,  alone  must  I  die. 

Lonely,  lonely  !  my  heart  sobs  the  livelong  day  ; 
Lonely,  lonely  !  it  whispers  and  moans  alway. 

Lonely,  lonely  !  once  I  was  blithe  and  gay ; 

Lonety,  lonely  !  the  sunlight  has  fled  away. 

Grief  o'er  my  spirit  her  pall  has  flung  ; 

Shadows  encompass  my  brow  ; 
And  of  all  I  held  when  life  was  young, 

Nothing  is  left  me  now. 

Lonely,  lonely !  my  heart  sobs  the  livelong  day  ; 
Lonely,  lonely  !  it  whispers  and  moans  alway. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  touchingly  wild  music 
that  accompanied  these  verses.  My  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
and  my  heart  of  sympathy ;  for  it  was  evident  that  both 
words  and  music  were  deeply  felt  and  wholly  impromptu. 

For  a  moment  her  song  ceased,  and  she  paused  in  her 
walk;  then  with  indescribable  pathos  she  sang  the  next 


BEECHWOOD.  2^ 

verse,  standing  with  uplifted  hand,  form  slightly  bent,  and 
eyes  fixed  and  earnest,  looking  with  that  far-away  look,  as 
though  striving  to  pierce  the  veil  that  hides  us  from  the 
beautiful,  the  unknown  land  of  shadows. 

Weary,  weary  !  thus  must  it  ever  be  ? 
Weary,  weary  ?  no,  there  is  rest  for  me. 
For  in  that  land  of  love  and  light, 

Far  o'er  the  crystal  sea, 
Where  loving  hearts  are  waiting  to-night, 

There,  there  is  rest  for  me ! 
Weary,  weary !  thus  must  it  ever  be  ? 
Weary,  weary  ?  no,  there  is  rest  for  me. 

I  shall  never  forget  her  as  she  then  stood,  "thinking  her- 
self alone  in  her  solitary  chamber,  the  fragile  form  slightly 
bent,  the  long  white  robe  flowing  loose  and  free  about  her, 
her  hand  uplifted,  the  pale,  spirituel  face,  with  that  far- 
away look  upon  it,  slightly  raised,  and  the  great,  earnest 
eyes,  so  brilliant  and  beautiful  with  life's  decay,  seeking  to 
penetrate  the  unknown  future, — singing,  in  those  wild  num- 
bers, the  strange  burden  of  her  heart.  It  formed  a  picture 
I  shall  carry  with  me  all  through  life. 

"Oh,  Minnie,"  I  said,  tenderly,  going  toward  her, 
"  cheer  up,  darling  !  Life  has,  I  trust,  much  of  happiness 
yet  in  store  for  you." 

She  started  a  little  at  my  unexpected  approach,  and  said, 
"No,  Nannie;  the  page  is  almost  written, — and  it  is 
well." 

"You  are  so  young,  dear;  you  must  not  despair.  You 
will  soon  gather  strength  and  health,"  I  answered. 

But  she  only  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  held  her  frail 
little  transparent  hand  between  me  and  the  light. 

"  See,  dear  Nannie,  there  is  no  life-blood  there.  You 
must  not  seek  to  deceive  either  yourself  or  me  Conger.  I 
have  ambition  and  will,  and  trust  I  shall  not  sink  long 


252 


BEECHWOOD. 


before  the  last  hour  comes ;  but  it  is  not  far  distant  now. 
I  shall  soon  rest  by  my  precious  little  Fannie  and  Matie. 
Oh,  to  think  how  much  happiness  I  might  have  had  within 
these  walls,  had  I  not,  like  Eve,  banished  myself  from 
Paradise!" 

"  Do  not  think  of  the  past  now,  my  Minnie.  We  are 
all  so  happy  to  have  you  with  us  again." 

"  Yes ;  you  are  all  too  kind  to  me, — when  I  have  brought 
nothing  but  disgrace  and  sorrow  to  you  all." 

"  Tell  me,  Minnie,"  I  said,  leading  her  to  her  couch  and 
anxious  to  divert  her  mind, — "tell  roe  where  you  found 
those  touching  words  you  sang  so  sweetly  as  you  walked 
the  floor." 

"  I  do  not  know,  Nannie.  They  came  to  me  as  I  walked. 
I  never  heard  them  before.  The  thoughts  they  embodied 
were  in  my  heart  as  I  sat  by  the  window,  but  clothed 
themselves  in  words  and  melody  without  any  effort  of  my 
own." 

"  It  is  a  rare  gift,  darling.  Came  it  ever  to  you  thus 
before?" 

"  Once  only ;  when  my  little  Matie  died.  Sorrow  alone 
— intense  and  fearful — brings  it  to  me." 

"  Will  you  let  me  read  the  words?     Have  you  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  so  desire.  Soon  after  little  Matie  died,  I  sat 
alone  beside  her  grave  and  that  of  my  darling  little  Fannie, 
and  my  mind,  in  the  midst  of  my  sorrow,  went  back  to 
my  childhood.  I  saw  again  my  father  and  mother  and 
little  sister ;  remembered  their  tender  care  of  us,  and  their 
sorrow  at  her  death.  My  mind  ran  hurriedly  and  sadly 
on  up  to  the  then  present.  It  seemed  but  a  day's  journey 
I  had  come  since  I  stood  at  my  mother's  knee;  but,  oh,  so 
long  and  wearisome,  so  full  of  graves,  both  of  lost  friends  and 
lost  hopes,  so  full  of  trials  and  sorrows  !  And  the  thought 
that  I  must  still  press  wearily  onward  and  leave  my  little 


BEECHWOOD.  253 

ones  to  rest  among  strangers  seemed  the  bitterest  of  all.  I 
had  ever  been  willful,  and,  few  bearing  with  me  as  my 
parents  had  done,  after  their  death  the  only  happy  hours  I 
had  known  were  those  I  spent  here  with  you  in  your  quiet 
home.  Would  to  God  I  had  listened  to  your  pleadings, 
and  had  not  flown  forth  from  such  a  sheltered  nest !" 

"But  the  poem,  darling,"  I  urged,  as  I  saw  her  again 
yielding  to  the  sad  present. 

"Ah,  yes.  Suddenly,  as  I  thus  sat  thinking,  the  same 
weird  spirit  that  came  to  me  to-day  seized  upon  me, — a 
dreamy  sensation  of  mingled  sadness  and  peace  stole  over 
me,  and  I  arose,  and,  with  clasped  hands,  paced  slowly  to 
and  fro  amid  the  graves  and  chanted  to  a  low,  sad  melody 
the  following  words."  And  she  handed  me  from  her  port- 
folio a  paper,  from  which  I  here  transcribe  them : — 

"  So  weary.    All  the  livelong  day 
I've  struggled  o'er  the  toilsome  way ; 
And  now,  when  evening  shades  steal  on, 
Weary  and  sad  I  stand  alone, 
With  cold  hands  to  my  hot  brow  press'd, 
And  sadly  cry,  '  Is  there  no  rest  ?' 

"  Along  the  way  my  feet  have  trod 
There  rest,  'neath  many  a  verdant  sod, 
The  forms  I've  loved,  the  hands  I've  press'd, 
The  lips  that  I've  so  oft  caress'd; 
Whilst  I,  alas  !  must  still  press  on, 
Nor  even  by  their  graves  kneel  down ! 

"  Yet  this  I  know,  that  far  away 
There  is  a  clime  of  beauteous  day, 
Beyond  the  toil,  beyond  the  stream, 
Beyond  life's  weary,  fleeting  dream, 
Where — oh  that  I  may  be  so  blest ! — 
'  He  giveth  his  beloved  rest.' " 

I  could  not  speak  when  I  had  finished  reading  the  words, 
my  heart  so  fully  appreciated  the  strain  to  which  the  poor 

22* 


254 


BEECHWOOD. 


torn  heart  must  have  been  subjected  to  call  them  forth.  I 
could  only  bend  over  the  low  couch  upon  which  she  lay, 
and  kiss  the  pale  forehead,  the  sunken,  tearless  eyes,  and 
the  flushed  cheeks  again  and  again,  while  my  own  hot  tears 
fell  upon  the  pallid,  upturned  face,  which  my  heart  told 
me  would  soon  be  hidden  from  our  sight  forever. 

She  lived  only  about  three  weeks  from  this  time,  and 
now  lies  quietly  sleeping  by  dear  little  Kittie  and  papa  ; 
and  as  soon  as  the  weather  becomes  cool  enough  her  little 
children  will  be  removed  to  her  side.  Her  last  days  were 
calm  and  peaceful.  She  seemed  willing  to  go,  trusting 
in  the  merits  of  Christ's  blood  for  acceptance  with  the 
Father. 

She  sat  up  a  little  every  day  to  the  very  last.  Once, 
only  a  few  days  previous  to  her  death,  Ralph,  at  mamma's 
request,  lifted  her  from  the  chair  to  the  couch  upon  which 
she  usually  lay  in  the  daytime,  and,  as  he  laid  her  down, 
she  smoothed,  with  her  little  transparent  hand,  his  cheek, 
and  I  heard  her  say  softly  to  him, — 

"Ah,  dear  Ralph,  you  are  always  so  tender  and  good 
to  me.  My  heart  tells  me  you  are  one  of  the  best  of 
men." 

"Would  it  had  told  you  so  years  ago,  little  Minnie!" 
said  Ralph,  brokenly ;  and  mamma  and  I  stole  out  upon 
the  terrace  beyond  the  sound  of  their  voices;  and  pres- 
ently I  went  below,  through  our  own  room,  on  to  the  lawn. 

Ralph  lingered  but  a  little  while  in  her  room ;  but  when 
he  came  below,  the  traces  of  not  unmanly  tears  were  on 
his  cheeks,  and,  walking  to  the  gate,  where  "Di"  stood 
impatiently  waiting  her  young  master,  he  mounted  and 
rode  away  to  the  village, — pausing  first  to  say  to  me,  in 
broken  tones, — 

"Don't  send  for  me,  Nannie,  when  the  time  comes, 
unless  she  wishes  it ;  I  could  not  bear  it." 


BEECHWOOD.  255 

"  Dear  Ralph  !"  I  whispered,  by  tone  and  look  assuring 
him  of  my  earnest  sympathy ;  and,  pressing  my  hand  in 
token  of  his  appreciation,  he  dashed  away,  as  he  ever  does 
when  unpleasantly  excited. 

She  died  so  quietly  and  hopefully  that  we  could  scarcely 
realize  that  she  was  indeed  gone.  It  was  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting  behind  a  great  mass  of  purple  and  golden 
clouds  in  the  west  that  the  messenger  came.  She  had 
asked  that  her  bed  might  be  drawn  in  front  of  the  open 
window,  and  she  lay,  with  her  little  white  hands  crossed 
upon  her  breast,  looking  out  quietly  upon  the  sunset, — the 
last  she  was  ever  to  behold  on  earth.  Aunt  Martha  had 
said,  hours  before,  that  she  believed  her  dying,  but  she 
seemed  so  calm  and  cheerful  we  could  not  think  it. 
Gertie,  mamma,  and  I  were  in  the  room,  when  all  at  once 
she  said,  distinctly  and  clearly, — 

"  The  hour  has  come." 

"  Dear  Minnie,"  said  mamma,  as  we  all  approached  her 
bed,  "not  yet,  darling,  we  trust." 

"  It  has  come,  Aunt  Fannie;  and  my  last  request  is  that 
you  will  remember  how  much  better  it  will  be  for  me  than 
if  I  had  lived  as  I  have  for  the  last  three  years.  God  is 
merciful." 

"My  darling,"  said  mamma,  solemnly, — for  the  expres- 
sion upon  Minnie's  face  told  that  her  impressions  were  but 
too  true, — "shall  I  send  for  Ellis,  to  pray  with  you?  He 
is  below-stairs. "  He  had  the  day  previous  administered 
to  her  the  holy  rites  of  the  sacrament. 

"Yes;  it  would  be  sweet  to  go  upon  the  wings  of 
prayer." 

Gertie  ran  hurriedly  below  for  Ellis  and  Aunt  Martha. 
Uncle  Ralph,  Ralph,  and  Charlie  were  in  the  village. 

"Kiss  me,  dear  Nannie,  and  hold  my  hand  as  I  pass 
into  the  valley.  It  will  not  be  so  much  like  going  alone." 


256  BEECHWOOD. 

I  bent  beside  her  and  kissed  her,  and  for  a  moment  I 
thought  her  breath  was  gone.  At  this  instant  a  thrush,  on 
one  of  the  trees  beside  the  casement,  burst  forth  into  a 
song  full  of  melody  and  gladness,  and,  with  a  smile  upon 
her  lips,  she  opened  her  eyes  a  moment  languidly  and 
looked  out  upon  the  sunset,  then  closed  them  upon  the 
world  forever.  Ellis  made  a  short,  appropriate  prayer, 
during  which  she  once  responded  audibly ;  but,  when  we 
arose,  it  was  over, — her  spirit  had  indeed  gone  upward  on 
the  wings  of  prayer.  Her  hand  still  clasped  my  own,  but 
loosely;  and,  as  for  a  moment  we  gave  way  to  our  sorrow, 
a  soft  ray  of  sunlight  struggled  through  the  trees  and  the 
open  window,  and,  as  it  rested  upon  her  beautiful  upturned 
face  and  soft  golden  hair,  she  looked  indeed  as  though  a 
stream  of  light  from  the  celestial  city  had  fallen  upon  the 
lifeless  casket  of  clay  as  the  glad  spirit  passed  through  the 
open  gates  into  the  presence  of  the  Eternal.  We  looked 
upon  the  dear  face  and  thought  of  her  earnest  words  of 
parting,  and  the  remembrance  took  from  us  much  of  the 
bitterness  of  death.  We  have  had  carved  upon  her.  tomb 
simply, — 

MINNIE  MAUD  NORRIS. 
SHE  HATH  REST. 

Giving  her  thus  her  girlhood's  name ;  ignoring  her  hus- 
band's altogether. 

And  so,  nearly  three  months  ago,  passed  from  our  lives, 
but  not  from  our  hearts,  our  precious  Minnie,  for  the  second 
time.  To-night,  as  I  sit  thinking  over  her  last  hours, — so 
beautiful,  so  full  of  quiet  peace,  exerting  over  us  all  the 
chastening  effect  such  suffering  ever  brings, — my  thoughts 
involuntarily  weave  themselves  into  the  following  simple 
strain  commemorative  of  her  death-scene  :  — 


BEECHWOOD.  257 

MAUD. 

Our  Maud,  our  darling,  was  dying, 

So  beautiful  and  so  fair, 
With  the  sunlight  softly  lying 

On  her  silken,  shining  hair. 

Her  robe,  in  its  dainty  whiteness, 

Fell  soft  from  her  throat  away, 
And  she  look'd  like  an  angel  waiting 

To  enter  the  gates  of  day. 

A  moment  the  blue  eyes  sadly 

Look'd  out  on  the  summer  sky, 
As  a  thrush  his  song  trill'd  gladly 

In  the  branches  swaying  nigh. 

Then  the  white  lids^  drooping  slowly, 

Closed  over  the  beauteous  eyes  ; 
And  the  calm  was  so  deep  and  holy, 

We  stifled  our  tearful  sighs. 

Like  an  infant  gently  sinking 

To  sleep  on  its  mother's  breast, 
So  she,  without  fear  or  shrinking, 

Pass'd  into  her  dreamless  rest. 

And,  although  our  hearts  were  breaking, 

Our  sorrow  we  set  aside, 
When  we  thought  how  her  awaking 

Would  be  with  the  glorified. 

And  soon,  with  the  pale  flowers  twining 

In  her  soft  and  golden  hair, 
We  left  her,  without  repining, 

To  the  angels'  tender  care. 

For  we  felt  that  the  hand  that  led  her 

So  gently  across  the  stream 
In  its  tenderness  would  guide  her 

To  the  land  of  which  we  dream. 

It  is  more  than  a  month  already  since  I  began  these 
entries,  I  find  so  much  to  call  my  attention  elsewhere.  But 
they  are  so  nearly  complete,  I  will  persist  a  little  longer. 


258  BEECHWOOD. 

Charlie,  dear  Charlie,  is  perfectly  well  again,  except  that 
his  right  arm  is  not,  and  we  fear  never  will  be,  so  strong  as 
formerly.  He  has  been  established  for  some  time  in  our 
village,  and,  as  I  predicted  he  would  be,  is  a  general  favor- 
ite. He  and  Nettie  expect  to  be  married  in  December ;  it  is 
now  the  last  of  September.  They  are  very  happy,  and  I  doubt 
not  her  choice  was  better  than  mine  for  her  would  have  been, 
although  I  always  thought  she  would  suit  Ralph  admirably. 

Gertie  and  Ellis  are  fixed  up  so  snugly  in  their  cozy  little 
bird's-nest  of  a  cottage,  it  does  one  good  to  look  in  upon 
them,  especially  as  Gertie  assumes  such  matronly  little  airs 
and  presides  so  prettily  at  her  dainty  tea-table.  It  was 
only  yesterday  Ellis  told  me  that  he  did  not  think  she  had 
her  counterpart  in  all  New  England.  Nothing  with  him  is 
wrong  that  Gertie  does ;  nothing  is  quite  good  enough  to 
lavish  upon  her. 

I  believe  I  have  failed  to  mention  that  Miss  Lane,  having 
lost  both  of  her  pupils  by  my  absence  and  Gertie's  marriage, 
herself  married  a  very  worthy  gentleman  whom  she  had  long 
loved,  but  from  whom  she  had  been  kept  by  untoward  cir- 
cumstances, and  is  now  living  in  Brooklyn,  very  pleasantly 
situated. 

I  have  tried  to  give  the  leading  incidents  since  my 
return  as  much  as  possible  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence, 
although  many  of  them  were  weeks  apart.  And  if  I  have 
said  but  little  of  my  own  individual  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
plans  for  the  future,  it  has  only  been  because  all  others 
seemed  of  more  importance  than  my  own,  and  were,  per- 
haps, more  easily  narrated. 

After  Minnie  came,  the  most  of  my  time  was  spent  with 
her :  yet  I  will  not  deny  that  strange  thoughts  and  feelings 
crowded  into  my  heart  in  regard  to  other  matters.  I  could 
not  help  thinking  of,  and  speculating  upon,  Uncle  Ralph's 
strange  words  and  stranger  manners  the  evening  we  had 


BEECHWOOD.  259 

met  her  in  the  avenue.  But  the  more  I  speculated,  the 
more  my  thoughts  became  inextricably  involved.  What 
good  had  he  done  himself  more  than  me  in  saving  my  life? 
There  was  one  interpretation  to  the  words  and  look  that 
sent  the  blood  in  a  hot  torrent  to  my  face,  and  a  wild  thrill 
to  my  heart ;  but  I  dared  not  believe  it  the  correct  one. 
Still,  I  could  not  but  think  of  it  and  dwell  upon  it,  till  at 
last,  fearful  of  betraying,  by  blush  or  look,  that  my  heart 
ever  harbored  such  utterly  impracticable  dreams,  I  came  to 
seek  refuge  ever  in  Minnie's  room  at  his  approach  and 
busy  myself  for  her  comfort  while  he  remained.  But  he 
never,  by  word  or  look,  referred  to  the  conversation  alluded 
to,  until  at  last  I  became  ashamed  of  ever  having  for  an 
instant  cherished  such  a  thought,  and  met  him  in  the  old 
accustomed  way.  Then  came  to  me  the  most  terrible 
ordeal  of  my  life, — so  terrible  that  my  heart  shrinks  back 
appalled  from  its  remembrance.  Yet  must  I  make  its  record, 
or  my  story  is  incomplete. 

One  sultry  day,  near  noon,  several  weeks  after  Minnie's 
death,  I  felt  nervous  and  unhappy,  I  scarcely  knew  why. 
I  found  no  companionship  in  books ;  music  was  utterly  out 
of  the  question  ;  the  weather  was  entirely  too  warm  for  me 
to  go  either  to  Gertie's  or  Nettie's,  and  mamma  and  Aunt 
Martha  were  busy  in  the  mysteries  of  jelly-  and  preserve- 
making  in  the  basement  kitchen.  I  felt  lost  and  unhappy, 
and  finally  went  to  my  room,  and,  after  a  refreshing  bath, 
began  slowly  to  comb  and  arrange  my  long  hair,  which,  for 
want  of  something  better  to  do,  I  dressed  with  unusual 
care,  in  coils  and  curls  innumerable,  over  a  beautiful  comb 
of  gold, — Fannie's  gift  to  me  when  abroad.  I  completed 
it,  for  a  wonder  in  my  mood,  to  my  satisfaction,  and,  array- 
ing myself  in  a  thin,  flowing  robe,  went  below  just  in  time 
to  meet  Uncle  Ralph  and  Ralph  entering  the  hall  door 
together. 


260  BEECHWOOD. 

"  Upon  my  word,  sis,"  said  Ralph,  stooping  his  tall  form 
to  kiss  me,  "  you  are  the  prettiest,  coolest  little  body  I  have 
seen  to-day.  Isn't  it  so,  Uncle  Ralph?" 

"She  certainly  does  look  enviably  cool,"  he  replied, 
passing  on  into  the  drawing-room. 

Now,  I  did  not  expect  him  either  to  caress  me  or  to  call 
me  pretty,  yet  I  was  just  in  the  mood  to  feel  the  least  slight, 
and  thought  at  once,  "Oh,  yes!  he  thinks,  I  suppose,  I 
have  spent  hours  before  the  glass,"  and  the  fact  of  its  being 
literally  true,  for  once,  did  not  tend  to  dissipate  my  ill 
humor. 

"Where  is  mamma,  sis?"  said  Ralph,  lightly  catching 
me  up  in  his  arms,  to  the  imminent  peril  of  both  hair  and 
dress. 

"Oh,  Ralph,  don't  be  so  rude!"  I  cried.  "Put  me 
down,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"Oh,  that  is  it?"  he  said,  teasingly.  "Well,  there  you 
are  !"  carrying  me  into  the  drawing-room  and  dumping  me 
down  into  a  great  arm-chair,  thereby  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  my  disordered  attire. 

"  I  declare,  Ralph,  you  are  too  bad  !"  I  said,  impatiently, 
seating  myself  by  the  open  window,  picking  up  a  piece  of 
light  work,  and  beginning  to  sew  industriously.  "  If  you 
want  mamma,  I  think  I  will  let  you  go  below  yourself  to 
find  her." 

"Fie,  Nannie  !  The  idea  of  your  telling  any  one  'to 
go  below.1  Do  you  not  know  such  language  is  altogether 
unbecoming  from  such  rosy  lips  as  yours  B"  And  he  dis- 
appeared from  the  room,  shaking  his  head  deprecatingly. 

Now,  I  ought  to  have  known  that  the  worst  thing  I  could 
possibly  do,  when  Ralph  was  in  a  teasing  mood,  was  to  let 
him  see  that  I  minded  his  raillery.  The  dear  fellow  had 
shown  but  little  disposition  of  late  to  indulge  in  it  at  all, 
and  I  should,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  have  wel- 


EEECHWOOD.  26! 

corned  its  return;  but  I  was  "out  of  sorts,"  as  Aunt 
Martha  would  say,  and  resented  it  accordingly.  Then, 
too,  Uncle  Ralph  sat  reading  his  newspaper  as  compla- 
cently as  though  the  mercury  did  not  stand  at  ninety-five 
degrees  in  the  shade  out-of-doors ;  and  his  composure  only 
added  to  my  evident  discomfort. 

Presently  Ralph  returned,  and  with  him  mamma,  who 
was  saying,  as  they  entered, — 

"I  am  half  afraid  for  you,  too,  Ralph;  it  is  so  sultry, 
we  shall  surely  have  a  storm." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  mamma.  And  then,  you  know,  I  swim 
like  a  turtle."  He  had  stopped  just  behind  my  chair, 
and,  as  I  was  about  to  ask  where  he  was  going,  he  said, 
thoughtfully, — 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  comb,  sis.    Where  did  you  get  it?" 

And  he  pulled  it  out  of  my  hair,  as  though  innocently 
to  examine  it.  Of  course  down  tumbled  curls  and  coils 
about  my  shoulders,  and  my  afternoon's  work  was  lost, 
and  I  in  no  humor  to  renew  it.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears 
of  vexation  as  I  said,  impetuously,  "I  do  wish  you  would 
never  return,  Ralph,  till  you  can  learn  to  behave  your- 
self," and  started  up-stairs  to  my  room. 

A  few  moments  afterward  I  heard  him  calling  to  me, 
penitently,  on  the  stairs, — 

"I  am  very  sorry,  little  sister,  that  I  was  so  naughty. 
Come  down  and  kiss  me  good-by,  please.  I  am  going 
away  till  to  morrow,  fishing."  But  I  pretended  not  to 
hear,  and  he  finally  went  away  with  Joseph  in  the  little 
spring-wagon.  Then,  when  I  saw  he  had  really  gone,  re- 
pentance came,  as  usual,  and  I  sat  down  and  cried  away 
my  shame  and  anger.  I  twisted  up  my  hair  in  its  usual 
great  coil,  and,  feeling  languid  and  miserable,  threw  my- 
self upon  the  bed,  and,  ere  I  was  aware,  dropped  off  into 
a  troubled  slumber. 

23 


262  BEECHWOOD. 

The  air  was  very  heavy  and  sultry,  and  I  must  have  slept 
at  least  two  hours,  when  I  was  awakened  by  some  one 
coming  into  my  chamber.  I  aroused  myself,  and  saw 
mamma  hurriedly  closing  the  shutters  and  sash  ;  and  when 
she  saw  I  was  awake  she  said,  nervously, — 

"  It  is  as  I  feared.  A  terrible  storm  is  coming  up.  Oh, 
if  Ralph  had  only  not  gone  !" 

I  sprang  from  the  bed,  and,  hastily  adjusting  my  dress, 
ran  down-stairs.  Great  masses  of  black  and  leaden-hued 
clouds  were  sweeping  over  the  heavens,  while  a  long,  low 
line  beneath  them,  in  the  west,  was  green,  and  swept  fear- 
fully fast  up  from  the  horizon. 

"This  cloud  is  most  to  be  feared,"  said  Uncle  Ralph, 
as  I  joined  him  where  he  stood  upon  the  lawn  watching 
the  heavens.  I  looked  in  the  direction  he  pointed  out,  and 
saw  out  over  the  bay  a  tall,  funnel-shaped  cloud,  pointing 
downward,  sweeping  rapidly  eastward,  or  from  the  beach 
out  to  the  open  sea.  "  Such  clouds  are  sure  to  carry  death 
and  destruction  in  their  track.  God  forbid  it  cross  the  track 
of  any  ship!" 

"Oh,  Uncle  Ralph,  do  you  believe  that  Ralph  has  had 
time  to  reach  the  island  ?"  I  asked,  in  alarm.  They  usually 
went  to  fish  to  a  small  island  about  five  miles  away  from 
the  mainland. 

"No,  I  think  not;  but  I  trust  he  saw  the  storm  arising 
before  he  went  upon  the  water.  There  were  two  or  three 
others  besides  himself,  and  they  would  naturally  delay  a 
little." 

"Has  the  storm  been  long  in  coming  up?"  He  looked 
at  me  curiously  a  moment,  and  I  added,  "I  fell  asleep; 
the  day  was  so  sultry." 

"You  are  a  little  feverish,"  replied  he,  taking  my  hand. 
"  Go  and  bathe  your  temples;  it  will  refresh  you." 

I  went  with   childlike   submissiveness,  and  did   as   he 


BEECHWOOD. 


263 


directed  me,  and  by  that  time  the  wind  was  blowing  so 
furiously  that  we  fastened  all  the  doors  and  windows,  and 
went  into  the  great  hall,  that  place  seeming  the  most 
secure  from  danger.  Through  the  shutters  and  the  glass 
beside  the  great  door  we  could  see  great  branches  of  trees 
whirled  like  feathers  through  the  air,  which  was  thick  with 
dust  and  leaves.  The  domestics  had  also  gathered  into  the 
hall,  and  sat  in  silent  fear. 

"Please  come  with  me  a  moment  to  the  upper  hall,"  I 
whispered  to  Uncle  Ralph,  who  sat  upon  the  wide  stairs. 
He  arose  without  speaking,  and  accompanied  me.  "  I  was 
afraid  to  come  alone ;  and  I  felt  as  though  I  must  see  the 
bay." 

We  approached,  and  through  the  shutters  looked  out  to 
sea ;  but  the  storm  was  so  intense  we  could  see  nothing, 
for  now  the  rain  and  hail  began  to  fall  in  torrents :  we 
could  hear  the  mad  roar  of  the  waves,  however,  and  knew 
they  must  be  terrific.  We  crossed  to  one  of  the  rooms 
which  looked  out  upon  the  grove,  and  saw  great  trees 
snapped  off  as  though  they  had  been  tiny  saplings. 

"  Oh,  if  Ralph  only  were  at  home  !"  I  said.  "And  to 
think  I  was  so  cross  with  him  !"  And  the  hot  tears  flowed 
silently  over  my  face  as  I  turned  to  go  back  to  mamma. 

"Try  to  forget  it  now,  Nannie;  pray  to  God  to  care  for 
him  in  this  peril,  and  to  give  you  more  strength  for  the 
future.". 

One  reason  I  so  love  and  reverence  Uncle  Ralph  is,  that 
he  never  screens  my  faults.  He  never  says,  "It  is  no- 
thing;" but  ever  points  me  to  the  better  way. 

We  found  mamma  sitting,  pale  and  motionless,  with  her 
head  resting  upon  her  hand  ;  and  when  I  crouched  down 
beside  her,  and  pressed  my  lips  to  her  hand,  she  said,  in  a 
tone  that  revealed  the  depth  of  her  agony, — 

"  Oh,  Nannie  !  I  shall  never  see  my  brave  boy  again  !" 


264  BEECHWOOD. 

"  Dear  mamma,  say  not  so,"  I  pleaded ;  though  my  own 
heart  beat  fearfully  at  the  thought. 

"It  is  impossible  that  he  could  live  through  this  fearful 
tempest.  Just  so  my  Charlie  perished  years  ago.  Oh, 
why  do  I  ever  let  them  leave  me  to  go  upon  those  treacher- 
ous waters?" 

Then  Uncle  Ralph  soothed  her  as  no  other  could  have 
done.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  ever  seen  her  so  fear- 
fully agitated  before.  And  ere  long  the  violence  of  the 
storm  abated. 

"Joseph  will  soon  come,"  said  mamma;  "he  was  only 
to  drive  Ralph  to  the  beach ;  and  then  we  shall  know  more 
of  them." 

In  a  vtsry  short  time  Joseph  did  come,  and  sent  in  word 
to  Uncle  Ralph  that  he  would  like  to  see  him. 

"  No,  no,"  said  mamma,  in  an  imperious  manner,  wholly 
unlike  her  usual  mild  demeanor.  "No,  tell  him  to  come 
here;  I  must  hear  at  once  all  that  he  knows  of  my  boy." 

"Dear  Fannie,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  "it  will  be  much 
better  to  let  me  speak  with  him  first  alone." 

"No,  Ralph;  forgive  me,  but  I  must  know  everything 
now:  this  suspense  is  worse  than  death  !" 

Uncle  Ralph  looked  troubled,  but  said  no  more,  and 
Joseph  came. 

"Joseph,  what  of  your  young  master?"  said  mamma, 
eagerly,  as  soon  as  he  appeared. 

Joseph  looked  at  Uncle  Ralph,  uncertain  how  much  to  tell. 

"Tell,  briefly,  all  you  know,"  he  said  to  him.  So  he 
began : — 

"The  other  gentlemen  were  waiting  for  us  when  we 
reached  the  beach,  as  Mr.  Ralph  had  stopped  a  little  in 
the  village,  which  you  know  is  considerably  out  of  our 
way,  to  get  his  fishing-tackle.  Then  there  was  considera- 
ble discussion  as  to  whether  they  should  start  or  not  before 


BEECHWOOD. 


265 


the  storm.  It  seemed  so  distant,  they  at  last  decided  that 
they  could  easily  reach  the  island  before  it  broke:  so  they 
put  off." 

"Be  quick,  Joseph,"  said  mamma,  sitting  rigid  and 
pallid,  with  clasped  hands;  "be  quick;  did  they  reach  it?" 

"Why,  you  see,  my  lady,  they  had  not  noticed  the 
strange-looking  cloud  that  came  up  so  suddenly, — the  one, 
your  honor,"  turning  to  Uncle  Ralph,  "that  looked  so 
much  like  a  sugar-loaf  upside  down." 

A  silent  shudder  ran  over  us  all,  but  Uncle  Ralph  only 
nodded,  and  Joseph  went  on  : — 

"  I  had  started  back  to  the  village  with  the  team  when  I 
first  saw  it.  It  struck  the  ground  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  shore,  and  demolished  everything  in  its  track ;  tore 
up  great  trees  by  the  roots,  as  easily  as  I  would  tear  up  a 
weed ;  unroofed  barns  and  houses,  and  completely  tore  to 
atoms  the  old  tenantless  house  that  stood  near  the  beach." 

"  But  the  boat,  Joseph,  the  boat?"  cried  mamma;  for, 
like  most  servants,  he  was  very  tedious  in  his  narrative. 

"Yes,  my  lady:  the  boat  was  about  three-fourths  of  the 
way  to  the  island  when  it  struck  her.  I  had  stopped,  for 
I  saw  she  was  just  in  its  track.  It  lifted  her  clear  out  of  the 
water,  as  it  would  a  leaf  from  the  ground,  then  turned  her 
completely  bottom  upward,  throwing  the  young  gentlemen 
into  the  midst  of  the  great  whirling  waves." 

Uncle  Ralph  had  risen,  when  he  saw  what  was  coming,  to 
prevent,  if  possible,  so  terrible  a  history;  but  it  was  too  late. 
Mamma  put  out  her  hand  appealingly,  and  said,  faintly, — 

"And  what  then?" 

"I  saw  them  all  struggling,  for  a  moment,  together,  in 
the  water;  and  then  the  rain  and  hail  blinded  me  so,  I 
could  distinguish  nothing  any  longer ;  so  I  rode  to  the  vil- 
lage as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  Mr.  Charlie  started  at  once, 
in  company  with  several  others,  to  go  to  the  beach,  and 

23* 


266  BEECHWOOD. 

across  to  the  island,  to  learn  the  truth.  He  sent  me  home 
to  tell  Mr.  Ralph,  here,  all  I  had  seen,  and  to  say  to  you, 
my  lady,  not  to  give  up,  for  they  should  doubtless  find  them 
all  alive  on  the  island,  as  they  were  all  good  swimmers, 
and  not  far  from  it  when  the  boat  capsized." 

"  No,  no  !  I  shall  never  see  my  boy  again !  Oh,  Ralph, 
my  darling,  my  first-born  !  And  grown  so  much  of  late 
like  my  own  buried  Charlie  !  May  God  give  me  strength 
for  this  trial !"  And  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
moaned,  aloud  again  and  again,  in  her  anguish. 

"  He  will,  dear  Fannie;  trust  him,"  said  Uncle  Ralph, 
tenderly.  Then  to  Joseph, — 

"Go  at  once  to  the  beach,  upon  the  best  horse,  and 
bring  us  the  first  definite  word  you  can  receive." 

"I  will,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  bowing  himself  respectfully 
out  of  the  room,  at  the  same  instant  that  Ellis  and  Gertie, 
having  in  some  way  heard  the  news, — for  ill  news  ever 
travels  fast, — entered  the  hall. 

I  had  heard  all,  as  in  a  dream,  while  an  iron  band 
seemed  binding  heart  and  brain.  I  had  not  moved  or 
spoken  during  Joseph's  narrative ;  but  the  whole  scene 
arose  vividly  before  me  as  he  narrated  it ;  and  I  fancied  I 
could  see  Ralph's  pale,  ghastly  face  looking  from  the 
troubled  waters,  the  dark  hair  lying  in  tangled  wet  masses 
about  it,  and  the  pale  lips  whispering  the  words,  "Please 
come  and  kiss  me  good-by,  little  sister,"  as  he  had 
called  to  me  from  the  stairs  that  morning.  I  saw  poor 
mamma's  pallid,  sorrowful  face;  I  heard  Gertie's  low  sob 
of  anguish,  as  the  story  was  briefly  repeated  to  herself  and 
Ellis ;  I  heard  Uncle  Ralph  and  Ellis  both  speaking  cheer- 
ful words  of  hope  and  courage ;  but  their  voices  sounded 
afar  off,  as  dream-voices,  and  I  half  fancied  I  would  soon 
awaken  from  this,  as  from  other  feverish  dreams  of  terror 
and  distress. 


BEECHWOOD. 


267 


At  last  I  arose,  went  out  upon  the  veranda,  and  walked 
slowly  to  the  end  looking  toward  the  grove.  The  storm 
had  all  passed ;  the  sun  shone  out  brightly,  and  the  little 
birds  twittered  lovingly  in  the  branches.  But  the  sun- 
shine had  a  peculiar  look,  as  though  it  shone  through  a 
dark  mist ;  and  the  notes  of  the  little  birds,  like  the  human 
voices,  sounded  afar  off.  A  beautiful  ash,  that  papa  had 
planted  when  Ralph  was  a  baby,  had  been  twisted  and 
torn,  until  the  trunk  was  shivered  into  a  thousand  pieces, 
some  ten  feet  from  the  ground  ;  and  it  now  stood  shattered 
and  desolate,  with  its  beautiful  head  of  verdure  upon  the 
ground  at  its  feet.  I  shuddered  as  I  looked  at  it,  and  the 
iron  band  seemed  tightening  around  my  brain.  "  It  is 
Ralph  himself,"  I  thought,  with  a  cold,  creeping  sensation 
pervading  my  whole  frame, — "Ralph  himself;  cut  off  in 
his  manhood's  early  prime;  broken  and  wrenched  from  us 
with  all  the  verdure  and  nobleness  of  manhood  fresh  upon 
him." 

Soon  Gertie  came,  pale  and  tearful,  and,  clinging  to  me, 
said, — 

"  Oh,  Nannie,  do  you  believe  it  possible  that  Ralph  is 
indeed  lost?" 

I  looked  at  her  with  the  same  calm  with  which-  I  had 
heard  everything  else,  only  gathering  her  a  moment  closely 
to  my  heart,  and  saying,  soothingly, — 

"We  will  know  better,  dear,  when  Charlie  comes." 

I  pointed  to  the  shattered  tree,  and  said,  "  Do  not  let 
mamma  know  of  it ;  and,  dear,  if  you  can,  stay  near  her : 
I  cannot,  now." 

My  voice  sounded  as  strange  to  me  as  had  her  own,  and 
I  do  not  think  I  could  have  spoken  so  calmly  much  longer. 

"Oh,  Nannie,"  said  Gertie,  tearfully,  as  I  pointed  to  the 
tree,  "  it  is  Ralph's  own  tree.  I  know  from  that  he  must 
have  perished."  And  she  clung  to  me,  sobbing  hysterically. 


268  BEECHWOOD. 

| 

"Be  calm,  Gertie;  you  were  always  good  to  him,"  I 
said,  stoically.  "  Go  to  mamma,  please,  dear."  And  I 
passed  through  the  hall  back  into  the  kitchen.  There  I 
stood  a  long  while  in  the  back  door,  watching  the  bees 
among  the  honeysuckle-flowers.  Then  I  remember  stoop- 
ing down  and  stroking  the  back  of  a  pet  cat,  that  came 
rubbing  and  purring  about  me ;  then  I  walked  slowly  out 
to  the  garden-gate,  counting,  mechanically,  the  paving- 
stones  as  I  walked  along,  and,  remembering  now  that  my 
limbs  trembled  excessively  beneath  me,  wondering  why 
they  had  not  left  the  bench  beneath  the  bee-hives  long 
enough  for  a  person  to  sit  down  upon*  I  had  not  changed 
my  clothes  since  the  storm,  the  air  was  cold  and  damp,  and 
I  was  thinly  clad. 

"Do  go  and  put  on  a  heavier  dress,  child,"  Aunt 
Martha  had  urged,  and,  seeing  I  showed  no  evidence  of 
so  doing,  had  finally  brought  a  light  breakfast-shawl  and 
thrown  it  over  my  shoulders.  I  drew  it  about  me,  for  I 
was  very  chilly. 

The  hours  slipped  away,  and  finally  I  heard  the  tramp 
of  horses'  feet,  and  looking  from  the  kitchen-window,  near 
which  I  stood,  saw  Joseph  and  Charlie  riding  together  up 
the  avenue.  The  lamps  were  already  lighted  in  the  dining- 
room,  where  supper  had  long  been  waiting,  and  the  twi- 
light was  deepening  in  the  grove.  I  turned  mechanically, 
and  went  into  the  drawing-room. 

Mamma  still  sat,  pale  and  tearless,  in  her  chair,  with 
Gertie  still  beside  her,  and  Uncle  Ralph  and  Ellis  near. 
She  lotfked  at  me  wistfully  as  I  entered,  and  held  her  hand 
out  to  me.  I  went  to  her,  kissed  her  hands  and  forehead 
and  lips,  and  heard  her  tender  voice  saying  to  me, — 

"  We  must  not  lose  our  trust  in  God's  mercy,  dear." 

"No,  dear  mamma,"  replied  I,  listening  all  the  while 
for  the  sound  of  Charlie's  footsteps.  Uncle  Ralph  had 


'  BEECHWOOD. 


269 


evidently  heard  them ;  for  he  arose,  and  went  out.  I 
walked  to  the  table  and  adjusted  a  book  or  two,  then  closed 
the  piano  and  straightened  the  cover,  feeling  all  the  while 
as  though  I  were  walking  upon  the  deck  of  a  vessel  in  a 
troubled  sea,  and  finally  sank  down  into  an  easy-chair, 
waiting  to  be  awakened  from  this  terrible  nightmare  that 
had  seized  upon  both  mind  and  body. 

Finally  Uncle  Ralph  returned,  and  said  tenderly  to 
mamma,  "  Charlie  has  come,  Fannie;"  and  as  she  started 
from  her  seat  excitedly,  he  entered.  One  glance  at  his 
pale,  troubled  face,  terror-stricken  and  awed,  was  enough ; 
there  was  no  need  of  words.  He  walked  directly  to 
mamma,  and,  folding  her  tenderly  in  his  strong  arms, 
said,  brokenly, — 

"  My  poor  mother  !  may  God  comfort  you  !" 
A  low  wail,  as  from  a  broken  heart,  for  a  moment  es- 
caped mamma's  bloodless  lips,  as  she  sank  swooning  upon 
his  breast.  He  laid  her  gently  down  upon  the  sofa,  and 
Aunt  Martha  and  Gertie,  and  Nettie  Ray's  aunt, — who  at 
that  moment  entered  with  Nettie, — busied  themselves  for 
her  recovery.  I  saw  them  all  working  with  mamma,  with- 
out feeling  for  an  instant  that  my  presence  in  the  group 
was  at  all  necessary  or  desirable  ;  felt  Nettie's  kiss  upon 
my  forehead  as  she  sat  down  close  beside  me,  and  the 
pressure  of  sympathy  as  she  took  my  hand ;  heard  Uncle 
Ralph  telling  Ellis,  in  a  low  voice,  that  two  bodies  had 
been  found  upon  the  island  beach,  washed  ashore  by  the 
waves, — the  bodies  of  young  Maitland  and  Leonard,  from 
the  village, — but  the  other  three  had  doubtless  been  washed 
farther  out  to  sea.  Ralph's  hat  had  been  found  in  some 
brush  near  the  shore,  and  the  boat,  still  bottom  upward, 
and  much  shattered,  floating  on  the  waves.  No  boat  was 
in  sight,  save  one  far  out  upon  the  open  sea,  that  could  not 
possibly  have  been  near  enough  to  render  any  assistance. 


270 


BEECHWOOD. 


I  heard  it  all  with  tearless  eyes,  and  this  terrible  stric- 
ture increasing  constantly  upon  heart  and  brain,  until  I  felt 
that  reason  was  tottering  upon  her  throne. 

"Oh,  dear  Nannie,"  said  Gertie,  coming  and  kneeling 
down  beside  me,  her  sweet  voice  choked  and  her  face  be- 
dewed with  tears,  "dear  sister,  do  not  look  so!  you 
frighten  me!  Ellis,  Charlie,  speak  to  her,  do  !" 

"Darling,"  said  Charlie,  tenderly,  "it  is  a  terrible 
blow;  but  we  must  bear  it  together.  Think  of  dear 
mamma  :  it  falls  heaviest  upon  her ;  let  the  thought  of  her 
sorrow  lighten  our  own." 

"Think  of  mamma?"  I  said,  almost  fiercely.  "Think 
of  dear  mamma?  Ay,  God  help  her!  But  she  sent  him 
forth  from  her  with  blessings  and  caresses.  They  parted 
with  their  hearts  full  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  her  last 
words  to  him,  I  doubt  not,  were  a  blessing.  And  I?  My 
parting  words  to  him  were,  '  Never  return  till  you  can  do 
as  I  wish  /'  or  that  in  substance.  I  sent  him  from  me 
with  anger  in  my  heart  and  scorn  upon  my  lips,  for  a  little 
harmless  pleasantry ;  and  God  has  taken  me  at  my  word  : 
he  will  never  return  !  Oh,  if  I  could  only  weep  as  you  do, 
Gertie!  but  I  have  no  tears;  the  fountain,  I  think,  is  dried 
forever. ' ' 

They  talked  with  me  ;  they  reasoned  with  me ;  they  tried 
to  comfort  me ;  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  My  heart  was  ice, 
and  my  brain  a  ball  of  liquid  fire.  At  last  I  lay  upon  the 
library  sofa,  only  to  hush  their  pleadings ;  and  when  for  an 
instant  I  was  alone,  I  stepped  through  the  open  window 
into  the  veranda,  and,  in  the  deepening  twilight,  flew  to 
the  grove.  I  felt  that  I  should  die  in  the  house ;  I  must 
have  air  ;  I  could  not  breathe  ;  and  I  must  go  where  there 
were  none  to  speak  to  me.  Chilled  and  bewildered,  I 
wandered  about  through  the  wet  leaves  and  grass.  I  saw 
the  stars  coming  out  through  the  trees  above  me,  and  thought 


BEECHWOOD.  27I 

how  they  looked  down  upon  the  waters  beneath  which  my 
brother  lay.  I  tried,  again  and  again,  to  pray ;  but  my 
lips  could  only  frame  the  words,  "  My  God,  my  God  !"  to 
be  followed  ever  by  the  terrible  ones,  "  he  will  never  re- 
turn !"  It  seemed  impossible  that  he  had  that  morning 
left  us  in  health  and  spirits ;  it  surely  had  been  a  month  ago. 

How  long  I  had  been  out  I  know  not, — perhaps  only  a 
few  moments,  perhaps  an  hour:  I  could  never  tell, — when, 
as  I  stood  with  my  hands  vainly  striving  to  undo  the  fiery 
band  that  I  felt  encircled  jiiy  head,  a  tall  form  stood  beside 
me,  a  kind  hand  rested  on  my  arm,  and  Uncle  Ralph  spoke 
soothingly,  though  firmly,  to  me  : — 

"My  dear  child,  this  is  wrong,  all  wrong;  this  is  open 
rebellion  against  the  will  of  our  kind  All-Father,  who 
never  sends  affliction  but  in  mercy." 

"No,  no!"  I  cried.  "It  was  not  mercy  to  take  him 
from  me,  when  I  had  sent  him  away  in  anger.  Why 
should  He?" 

"  To  teach  you  the  sad  lesson,  perhaps,  to  be  more  for- 
bearing with  those  you  love." 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  !  Have  I  not  tried  for  years 
to  conquer  this  great  sin,  until  I  felt  of  late  that  I  held  it 
in  complete  abeyance?  and  now,  like  a  demon,  its  last 
struggle  has  been  its  worst,  and  I  shall  go  'through  life 
crushed  and  desolate.  My  God,  be  merciful!"  And  again 
my  hands  were  pressed  upon  my  burning  temples. 

Uncle  Ralph  said  afterward  that  he  was  completely  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  He  saw  that  brain-fever  was  inevitable, 
unless  I  could  be  made  to  weep.  He  tried  to  draw  me  to 
the  house,  but  I  would  not  go;  then  he  recalled  little 
tender  incidents  in  Ralph's  life,  or  in  my  own,  but  to  no 
purpose:  I  had  no  tears  to  weep.  At  last  he  said,  softly, 
and,  oh,  so  tenderly, — 

"  Darling,  do  you  remember  Caryl  Carrington  ?" 


272 


BEECHWOOD. 


The  name  had  ever  a  peculiar  fascination  for  me,  and  I 
listened. 

"Do  you  remember — "  and  he  went  on,  delineating  in 
the  most  touching  manner  some  passages  in'that  fearful  night 
of  which  I  have  already  spoken,  and  his  own  overwhelming 
grief  when  he  found  she  had  died  in  his  arms.  For  a 
moment  my  grief  was  absorbed  in  his.  I  had  tears  for  his 
sorrow,  but  not  for  my  own,  and  they  slowly  trickled  down 
my  cheeks. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  me  suffer  such  sorrow  again?" 
he  asked. 

"  God  forbid  !"  I  said,  earnestly. 

"Then  listen  to  me.  For  a  long  while  another  has  been 
as  dear  to  me  as  ever  was  she.  Shall  I  have  to  mourn  that 
death  has  snatched  her  also  from  my  arms?" 

"  God  forbid  !"   I  reiterated. 

Then,  slowly  and  earnestly,  and  bending  slightly  over 
me,  he  said,  "  Then,  unless  she  herself  casts  me  from  her, 
I  must  now  protect  her,"  and  drew  me  gently  to  him. 

One  earnest,  pleading  look  into  his  face,  and  I  lay 
sobbing  out  my  sorrow  upon  his  breast.  It  was  a  strange 
time,  a  strange  place,  for  such  a  scene,  but,  as  he  has  since 
said,  he  had  no  choice  of  remedies.  I  remember  no  feel- 
ing, save  one  of  rest  and  protection.  Indeed,  all  that  I 
have  narrated  of  this  terrible  time  seems  dream-like  and 
unreal.  I  remember  it  all,  but  in  a  shadowy,  indefinite 
way. 

For  a  little  while  he  let  my  grief  have  its  course,  know- 
ing it  was  that  which  my  weary  brain  most  needed.  Then  he 
said,  smoothing  my  hair  gently  away  from  my  heated 
forehead  with  his  soft,  cool  fingers, — 

"Now  you  will  go  in  with  me,  my  darling,  I  am  sure; 
and,  for  my  sake,  you  will  let  them  get  you  warmly  into 
bed,  and  will  try  earnestly  not  to  think,  but  to  sleep." 


BEECHWOOD.  273 

I  let  him  lead  me  like  a  child.  I  did  as  he  bade  me,  without 
question,  only  kneeling  a  moment  tearfully  by  mamma  to 
receive  her  kisses  and  mingle  my  prayers  with  hers. 

He  gave  me  in  charge  of  Aunt  Martha ;  and  I  am  sure  I 
cannot  tell  what  she  did  with  me,  so  completely  had  my 
violent  weeping,  after  my  nervous  system  had  been  so  over- 
wrought, prostrated  me.  I  believe  I  went  to  sleep  under 
her  hands.  Nor  do  I  remember,  save  in  a  very  indistinct 
manner,  anything  of  the  next  three  or  four  days,  lying  in 
a  kind  of  dream-like  stupor  all  the  time,  suffering  untold 
agony  with  my  spine  and  brain.  I  recollect,  very  indis- 
tinctly, seeing  light  forms  flitting  silently  about  me  that 
I  dreamed  were  visitants  from  the  shadow-land ;  but  they 
all  had  familiar  faces,  some  like  Gertie  and  Nettie  Ray,  but 
more  like  Aunt  Martha  and  mamma.  And  several  times 
Charlie  and  Uncle  Ralph  appeared  among  them,  and  I 
looked  eagerly  for  Ralph  also,  but  he  never  came. 

At  last,  one  morning,  I  heard  a  robin  singing  beneath 
my  window,  and  thought  how  sweet  it  was,  and  wondered 
that  everything  seemed  so  still ;  then  Gertie  stole  softly  to 
my  bedside  from  an  open  door,  and  set  a  little  vase  of 
violets  on  the  table  near  me. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  I  said,  softly,  and  with  a  low  cry  of 
joy  she  sank  beside  my  bed. 

"Do  you  know  me,  darling?"  she  said,  with  tearful 
voice. 

"Know  you?  why  should  I  not,  Gertie?"  I  asked,  but 
found  I  spoke  with  great  effort. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  so  sick,  and  talked  so  wildly,  J 
feared  you  never  would  know  me  again.  Ah,  and  they 
said  I  must  not  let  you  talk,"  she  said,  with  tears  and 
kisses;  "go  to  sleep,  darling  sister,  do." 

I  closed  my  eyes  and  tried  to  think.  Had  I  indeed 
been  so  sick  ?  If  so,  why  ?  At  first  I  could  remember 

24 


274  BEECHWOOD. 

npthing.  Then  slowly,  one  by  one,  the  links  in  memory's 
chain  came  back,  until  I  remembered  all, — all.  The  scene 
in  the  grove  was  less  distinct  than  any;  indeed,  I  was  not 
quite  sure  that  I  had  not  dreamed  it,  after  all.  But  I  was 
too  weak  to  think,  almost  to  care,  so  I  soon  dropped 
asleep  again,  and  slept  until  the  doctor  came,  two  hours 
afterward,  from  the  village.  He  was  our  old  physician, 
whom  Charlie  insisted  upon  calling  when  I  became  so  ill, 
distrusting  his  own  abilities.  He  seemed  delighted  at  the 
change,  and  said  I  would  do  nicely  now,  with  care. 

And  so  from  day  to  day  I  gained  a  little  strength,  until 
at  last  they  carried  me  down-stairs  and  let  me  lie  upon  the 
sofa  in  the  drawing-room.  No  one  spoke  of  Ralph,  and  I 
could  not  question  them.  All  strove  to  appear  cheerful  in 
my  presence,  but  poor  mamma  looked  at  least  twenty  years 
older  than  before  that  fatal  day.  The  color  had  left  her 
lips,  her  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  had 
lost  their  brilliancy.  She  seemed  but  a  wreck  of  her 
former  self;  and,  although  she  was  ever  kind  and  gentle,  I 
knew  her  heart  was  breaking. 

One  morning — it  was  the  second  I  had  been  carried 
down-stairs — I  took  a  whim  that  I  wished  to  sit  in  the 
library ;  so  they  wheeled  my  easy-chair  before  the  bay- 
window,  and  clustered  everything  around  me  they  thought 
would  amuse  me  or  add  to  my  comfort.  The  window  was 
open  to  the  floor,  and  the  fragrance  from  the  dew-covered 
flowers  was  delicately  sweet.  But  I  could  enjoy  nothing 
with  mamma's  patient,  suffering  face  before  me.  Oh,  I 
thought,  if  I  could  only  lay  down  my  own  life  to  recall 
dear  Ralph's  ! 

At  last  we  were  a  moment  alone,  and  calling  her  to  me, 
and  winding  my  arms  about  her  lovingly,  I  said,  as  I  laid 
my  head  upon  her  bosom, — 

"Dear  mamma,  tell  me,  for  my  soul  is  in  doubt,  why 


BEECHWOOD.  275 

does  God  so  afflict  you?  His  reasons  for  myself  I  can 
easily  understand ;  but  for  you,  patient,  lovely,  and  godly, 
— it  seems  inexplicable." 

"Hush,  darling;  question  not.  'What  we  know  not 
here  we  shall  know  hereafter.'  My  faults  are  many,  and  I 
doubtless  need  the  discipline.  I  try  to  submit  cheerfully ; 
but  a  mother's  heart  clings  with  wonderful  tenacity  to  her 
children  ;  and  when  death  suddenly  snatches  them  from 
her  embrace,  it  wrenches  the  tendrils  of  the  heart  with  a 
violence  that  is  worse  than  death  to  herself." 

"Ah,  mamma,"  I  said,  tearfully,  "it  will  surely  kill 
you  ;  you  know  not  how  you  are  failing." 

"  No,  darling.  The  storm  often  crushes  the  flower  that 
it  does  not  break.  But,  dear  Nannie," — with  trembling 
voice, — "  I  can  only  say,  like  one  of  his  servants  of  old, 
'Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him!'  Can  you 
not  also  trust  in  him  thus,  my  darling?" 

"  I  will  try,  dear  mamma;  indeed,  indeed,  I  will  try!" 

Mamma  kissed  me  tenderly,  and  left  me  to  my  own 
thoughts,  which  were  full  of  peace,  in  spite  of  my  sorrow. 
I  felt  that  my  mother's  faith  should  indeed  henceforth  be 
mine.  I  remembered  Gethsemane,  and  thought  how  I  had 
there  resolved  to  lead  a  better  life.  I  remembered  the  tears 
I  had  there  shed,  the  prayers  I  had  there  uttered.  I  looked 
back  upon  my  life  since  then, — my  earnest  endeavors  to 
do  right,  and  my  ofttimes  yielding  to  unexpected  temp- 
tations,— and  felt  that  constant  watchfulness,  and  earnest, 
abiding  faith  in  my  Saviour,  could  alone  lead  me  aright 
through  the  many  temptations  of  life.  For  this  I  earnestly 
prayed,  and  thought  with  a  chastened  sorrow  upon  our 
present  affliction.  "  He  hath  led  me  by  a  thorny  path," 
I  said  to  myself,  with  tearful  eyes;  "  but  I  trust  it  is  into 
a  better  way." 

As  I  lay  back  in  my  easy-chair,  thus  thinking,  and  drink- 


276  BEECHWOOD. 

ing  into  my  soul  the  beautiful  view  from  my  open  window, 
I  saw  a  man  coming  up  the  avenue.  "It  is  Charlie,"  I 
thought ;  for  he  came  daily,  now,  for  a  little  while,  and 
Uncle  Ralph  was  already  in  the  drawing-room  with  mamma. 
Intent  upon  my  own  thoughts,  I  forgot  his  coming,  until  I 
heard  the  click  of  the  gate ;  then  I  again  looked  up.  A 
tall,  manly  form  was  entering  the  gate — but  it  was  not 
Charlie's.  My  heart  gave  a  great  throb,  as  I  wiped  the 
mist  from  my  eyes  and  looked  again.  Then,  with  the 
frantic  cry,  "It  is,  it  is  my  brother!  it  is  Ralph!"  I 
sprang  through  the  long,  open  window  and  lay  sobbing 
and  panting  upon  his  breast. 

"Precious  little  sister,"  he  said,  kissing  me  again  and 
again,  as  he  strained  me  to  his  great  warm  heart  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  my  white  cheeks.  "  So  pale  and  thin, 
too  !  Has  she  indeed  grieved  for  her  brother  so  ?"  And 
the  hot  drops  from  his  own  eyes  fell  upon  my  forehead. 

I  could  only  cling  to  him  and  sob,  convulsively,  "Oh, 
Ralph,  Ralph  !"  I  did  not  lose  consciousness  ;  I  did  not 
faint ;  but  the  strength  all  departed  from  me.  A  languor 
stole  over  me  like  death  ;  and  I  remember  thinking  in  my 
heart,  "If  it  be  death;  let  me  dream  on  thus  forever  !" 

It  was  but  an  instant  before  mamma  and  Uncle  Ralph, 
having  indistinctly  heard  my  cry  and  come  to  look  for  me, 
stepped  out  upon  the  veranda.  Then,  when  they  saw 
Ralph  bending  over  me,  the  cry  that  went  out  from  my 
mother's  heart  I  never  shall  forget  while  I  have  being.  It 
roused  me  ;  it  nerved  me  ;  and  I  cried, — 

"Go  to  her,  Ralph!  Oh,  my  God,  the  sudden  shock 
will  kill  her  !" 

"No,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  circling  my  trembling  form 
with  his  strong  arm,  and  crying  in  spite  of  himself,  "  no, 
it  will  cure  her,  I  trust." 

But  he  was  but  half  right.     No  one  who  heard  that  cry 


BEECHWOOD.  277 

could  ever  forget  it.  It  was  not  a  scream  of  terror,  it  was 
not  a  cry  of  distress,  but  it  came  welling  up  from  the  depths 
of  the  poor  bleeding  heart,  like  the  strange,  sweet  discord 
produced  by  a  rude  hand  tearing  asunder  with  one  grasp 
the  chords  of  a  lute.  No  one  could  doubt  that  the  long- 
lacerated  chords  of  her  heart  were  wrenched  by  that  thrill- 
ing cry.  Ralph  sprang  to  her  with  outstretched  arms,  and 
she  sank  in  a  deathly  swoon  upon  his  breast. 

Then  such  a  scene  as  ensued !  Ralph,  still  holding 
mamma  to  his  heart — he  would  resign  her  to  no  one — and 
kissing  and  caressing  her  and  talking  with  us  alternately, 
was  a  hero,  and  a  real  royal  one.  He  carried  mamma  into 
the  house,  laid  her  upon  the  sofa,  still  holding  her  in  his 
arms,  only  allowing  Aunt  Martha — who  could  scarcely  do 
anything  for  crying  and  ejaculating  between  every  breath, 
"The  Lord  save  us!  Miracles  will  never  cease!"  or, 
"  The  Lord  love  us  !  I  cannot  yet  believe  it  is  himself!" 
— to  unloose  her  dress  a  little  and  bathe  her  temples  and ' 
hands  with  cologne.  He  himself  held  a  vinaigrette  to 
her  nose,  but  said  he  was  sure  his  kisses  were  the  best 
restorative,  which  I  do  not  in  the  least  doubt ;  for  when 
at  last  she  opened  her  eyes  and  found  herself  still  in  his 
arms,  with  his  warm  kisses  falling  upon  her  eyes  and  lips 
and  forehead,  she  smiled  up  to  him,  and  the  silent  tears 
stole  from  beneath  the  lids  that  had  again  closed,  and  the 
pale  lips  moved,  we  all  knew,  in  fervent  thanksgiving. 

Then  Joseph  was  dispatched  for  Ellis  and  Gertie,  and  to 
leave  word  also  at  Mr.  Ray's  ;  and  then  Charlie  came  gal- 
loping furiously,  having  heard  the  news  in  the  village, 
where  Ralph  had  stopped,  but  failed  to  find  him.  And 
such  an  embrace  as  they  two  gave  !  Mamma,  who  was  much 
better  and  was  lying  upon  the  sofa  then,  cried  and  laughed 
hysterically;  and  I  believe  all  of  the  rest  of  us  followed 
her  example. 


278  BEECHWOOD. 

And  how  had  it  all  so  come?  The  sail  in  the  distance, 
in  trying  to  make  the  shore,  had  passed  across  their  track, 
and  succeeded  in  saving  two,  Ralph  and  one  other,  but  was 
driven  by  the  storm  so  rapidly  out  to  sea  and  so  badly  in- 
jured that  she  was  forced  to  put  in  at  a  little  island  many 
miles  distant,  and  it  was  several  days  before  she  was  again 
fit  for  the  water.  She  was  a  very  slow-sailing  vessel ;  but 
the  officers  and  crew  were  very  kind  to  them,  and  landed 
them  at  the  nearest  port  as  soon  as  possible,  .from  whence 
they  came  directly  home, — not,  alas!  till  we  had  long 
tasted  for  him  the  "bitterness  of  death." 

The  day  passed,  as  all  days  will  pass,  be  they  sorrowful 
or  glad,  and  the  twilight  was  closing  about  us.  The  house 
had  been  full  of  friends  all  day  to  see  our  hero  ;  but  now 
they  had  departed.  Mamma,  pale,  but  with  a  face  ra- 
diantly happy,  moved  slowly  about ;  and  I  lay  quiet,  but 
happy,  upon  the  sofa  I  had  occupied  most  of  the  day. 
My  heart  was  full  of  a  quiet  joy,  and  none  the  less  so 
that  it  had  bent  that  morning  so  submissively  to  the  divine 
will  before  Ralph  came. 

While  they  were  at  supper — for  we  keep  old-fashioned 
country  hours  in  our  meals  at  Beechwood,  having  dinner 
at  two  and  supper  at  seven — I  arose  and  crept  to  the  easy- 
chair  beside  the  west  window,  and  sat  looking  out  upon 
the  lingering  sunset,  when  I  heard  a  step,  and  Uncle  Ralph 
sat  down  close  beside  me.  I  do  not  know  why, — it  had 
never  been  so  before, — but  I  felt  the  day  had  still  some- 
thing to  record  for  me.  He  took  my  hand  quietly  in  both 
of  his,  as  he  said, — 

"  The  day  has  been  full  of  happiness  to  us  all,  Nannie." 

"  It  has  indeed,  Uncle  Ralph." 

"  There  still  lacks  one  thing  to  make  it  complete  with 
me." 

"And  that?"  very  softly. 


BEECHWOOD.  27g 

"The  assurance  that  the  hope  I  have  cherished  since 
that  fearful  night  in  the  grove  is  not  without  foundation. 
Can  you  give  it  me  to-night,  dear  Nannie?"  And  he  bent 
forward  to  look  with  his  earnest  eyes  into  mine,  as  though 
he  would  read  the  secrets  of  my  very  soul. 

"  Then  it  was  not  a  dream  ?"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  darling  j  but  one  which,  I  trust,  is  to  last  through 
life.  You  once  said  to  me,  years  ago,  that  you  felt  if  I 
could  only  always  be  near  to  guide  you  you  would  never 
go  astray.  Will  you  tmst  me  still  ?  Will  you  walk  with 
me  and  let  me  hold  your  hand  all  through  life's  journey? 
We  will  help  each  other,  dear  Nannie,  that  neither  fall." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Ralph,"  I  whispered,  "you  would  not  de- 
ceive me  with  this  hope  ?  It  is  not  that  you  wish  to  pro- 
mote my  happiness  and  good,  but  really  that  you  love  me?" 

"  My  darling  child,  for  years  you  have  been  dearer  to 
me  than  my  life." 

"  Yes ;  but  as  Gertie  ?     Or — your  other  love  ?" 

"Little  doubter,"  he  said,  "I  could  have  flung  your 
'  other  love '  into  the  sea,  so  wroth  was  I,  when  he  came 
between  me  and  the  pure  young  heart  I  was  watching  and 
training  that  I  might  win  it  in  the  future." 

His  tones,  his  eyes,  the  pressure  of  his  hands  on  mine, 
all  carried  conviction ;  I  could  no  longer  doubt.  The  man 
I  so  long  had  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  noblest  of  God's 
creation,  who  stood  so  "head  and  shoulders"  above  all 
other  men,  whom  I  so  long  had  worshiped  and  loved  with 
my  whole  heart,  yet  never  dreamed  of  daring  to  aspire  to, 
had  stooped  to  lift  me  to  his  sphere, — poor,  little,  un- 
worthy, erring  me  !  I  had  no  words  to  speak ;  I  only  laid 
my  weary  head  upon  his  shoulder, — its  future  blessed  rest, — 
and,  half  bewildered  by  my  weight  of  happiness,  nestled 
within  the  loving  arm  that  now  encircled  me.  He  laid  his 
cheek  against  my  forehead,  as  it  rested  on  his  shoulder, 


2  So  BEECHWOOD. 

and  we  both  sat  looking  out  upon  the  purple  clouds, — for 
the  sunset  was  fading,-£-and  saw  the  evening  star  come  out,) 
and  let  our  souls  converse  through  silent  lips.    Then  mamma 
came,  with  loving  eyes,  and  said, — 

"  I  found  a  son  this  morning." 

"  And  Nannie  has  given  you  another  one  to-night,"  said 
Uncle  Ralph,  finishing  her  sentence  for  her.  And  so,  with 
blessings  and  caresses,  closed  this  eventful  day. 

"Mamma,"  I  said,  with  many  blushes,  a  few  days  after 
the  events  last  recorded,  "  did  you  ever  suspect  that  Uncle 
Ralph  loved  me?" 

"Never  till  the  day  I  told  him  of  your  own  and  Hal's 
engagement.  Then  he  told  me  how  he  had  hoped  for  years 
some  day  to  win  you,  and  spoke  the  only  unkind  words  he 
has  ever  spoken  to  me,  for  allowing  you  to  enter  into  an 
engagement  while  yet  too  young  to  know  your  own  heart." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  it  then  ?" 

"  What  good  could  it  have  done,  when  you  were  so  bound 
up  in  Hal?" 

"  Ah,  dear  mamma,  at  that  moment  I  worshiped  Uncle 
Ralph  as  a  superior  being,  and  daily  prayed  that  Hal 
would  grow  like  him.  I  did  not  dream  it  was  love  I  had 
so  hidden  away  in  my  heart  for  him ;  but  now  I  know  it 
by  its  true  name.  I  have  always  loved  him." 

"And  what,"  said  mamma,— the  least  little  bit  mali- 
ciously, I  thought, — "and  what,  pray,  was  the  feeling  you 
had  for  Hal,  then?" 

I  laughed  a  little,  as  I  said,  "Simply  a  reflection  of  the 
true  passion,  I  suppose.  I  could  not  aspire  to  reach  the 
sun,  and  so  I  took  an  object  that  it  shone  upon  and  tried 
to  think  it  the  real  planet. ' ' 

"  Bravo,  my  little  girl !  that  was  indeed  well  defined  !" 
said  Uncle  Ralph,  stepping  through  the  open  window. 


BEECHWOOD. 


281 


"  Oh,  Uncle  Ralph,  how  could  you?"  I  cried,  in  con- 
fusion, springing  to  my  feet. 

"  It  was  a  little  rude,  Nannie,  I  confess,"  he  said,  as  he 
held  toward  me  a  beautiful  cluster  of  white  japonicas  he 
had  brought  to  me  from  the  village ;  "  but  I  heard  your 
mamma's  last  question,  and  could  not  refrain  from  listen- 
ing to  your  reply.  Won't  you  forgive  me  this  once?" 

Always  a  little  emboldened  when  I  am  embarrassed,  I 
said,  laughingly,  "  On  one  condition." 

"Name  it." 

"That  you  will  tell  me,  if  you  really  were  so  fearful  of 
some  one  else  stealing  my  heart,  why  you  were  so  long  in 
declaring  your  own  wishes  in  regard  to  it." 

"Ah,"  said  Uncle  Ralph,  half  dramatically,  half  seri- 
ously, "  the  poet  must  answer  for  me,  when  he  says, — 

"^He  that  loves  cjeep  and  well  blurts  it  not  forth 
Unto  the  eager  crowd ;  but  in  the  calm 
And  hush  of  wood  and  vale,  whispers  it  soft 
Unto  the  solitude.'! 

"  But  seriously,  Nannie,  do  you  never  mean  to  call  me 
anything  but  '  Uncle  Ralph'  ?  I  think  it  is  time  half  of 
the  cognomen  were  dropped." 

"Never,"  I  said,  demurely;  "lest  I  forget  the  rever- 
ence due  to  your  age  and  position." 

"You  are  a  saucy  puss,"  he  said,  laughing.  "I  will 
have  my  hands  full  to  keep  you  straight,  I  see." 

"Ay,  that  you  will,"  said  Ralph,  catching  the  last 
remark,  as  he  entered  the  door.  "I  have  been  all  my  life 
trying  it,  and  have  at  last  ended  by  being  in  complete  sub- 
jection myself." 

"Ah,  Ralph,  you  are  a  privileged  character  now,  and 
may  say  what  you  please.  I  am  only  too  happy  to  have 
your  teasing  tongue  at  work  again,"  I  responded. 

25 


282  BEECHWOOD. 

"There!  do  you  see?  She  has  conquered  me  even  in 
this, — taken  my  vocation  from  me  completely;  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  perpetrate  a  joke  again, — never  !"  which 
remark  he  instantly  proved  by  picking  up  a  kitten  at  his 
feet  and  depositing  it  in  my  work-basket,  where  it  was 
soon  completely  entangled  in  the  meshes  of  bright  Berlin 
wool  which  I  was  weaving  into  a  shawl  for  mamma. 

And  so,  old  book,  my  narrative  draws  near  its  close. 
The  time  has  slipped  away  in  bright  dreams  and  brighter 
realities  since  I  began  this  last  continuous  narrative,  until  it 
is  now  late  in  October ;  and  early  in  December  I  shall  lay 
my  hand  in  Uncle  Ralph's,  to  be  led  by  him  forever.  My 
soul  has  found  its  destiny,  my  heart  its  rest.  There  are 
no  -longer  restless  yearnings  for  the  unattainable ;  there 
are  no  longer  unstirred  depths  within  my  heart ;  for  his 
hand  has  touched  the  innermost  recesses,  and  brought 
music  from  the  chords  I  dreamed  would  lie  in  silence  for- 
ever. 

And  so,  I  close  your  lids,  dear  old  book,  as  I  would 
close  the  white  lids  over  the  sightless  eyes  of  a  beloved 
friend  whose  heart  had  ofttimes  looked  into  my  own.  I 
shall  hide  you  away  in  some  safe  recess,  as  I  would  lay 
my  friend's  lifeless  form  away  beneath  the  cool  sods  of  the 
valley, — feeling  that  much  in  my  life  that  was  sad,  much 
that  was  beautiful,  is  hidden  away  forever  in  your  tomb. 
And  as  I  would  whisper  tearfully  above  the  grave  of  the 
beloved  one,  so  say  I  now  within  my  heart  for  you, — 

"REQUIESCAT  IN  PACE." 


BEECHWOOD, 


283 


Written  on  the  Fly-leaves  of  the  Old  Diary. 

This  morning,  at  breakfast,  Ralph  asked  me  for  some 
old  receipts  and  deeds  he  had  years  ago  given  me  to  put 
away  for  him,  and,  being  very  busy,  I  directed  him  where 
to  find  them  himself,  in  the  secret  drawer  of  my  old  desk, 
that  had  not  been  opened  for  years.  He  stayed  so  long  I 
feared  he  had  not  found  them,  and  went  to  look  for  them 
myself,  when,  lo,  there  he  sat,  so  intently  reading  he  did 
not  even  hear  my  approach.  I  stole  to  his  side,  peeped 
over  his  shoulder,  and  looked  upon  the  pages  of  my  own 
"  Diary,"  that  twelve  years  ago  I  had  interred  in  this  tiny 
sepulchre,  I  thought,  forever. 

"Well,  well!"  I  said;  "have  you  no  more  respect  for 
the  buried  past  than  thus  to  disinter  its  ashes  ?"  The  book 
was  open  at  the  last  page,  and  Ralph,  looking  up  with 
moistened  eyes,  drew  me  down  upon  his  knee,  and  said, 
earnestly, — 

"I  thank  God  hourly  for  the  gift  of  my  precious  wife, 
who  for  so  many  years  has  been  all  to  me  that  my  heart 
could  crave." 

"Oh,  Ralph,"  I  said,  always  touched  by  his  loving 
praise,  "if  I  have  only  been  half  worthy  the  blessed  place 
you  have  given  me  in  your  great  heart,  I  am  content." 

Into  what  lover-like  channel  our  conversation  might 
have  run  I  know  not,  for  at  that  moment  a  shout  of  merri- 
ment was  heard,  and  two  sturdy  boys  of  nine  and  seven 
years  burst  into  the  room  unceremoniously, — for  it  was 
the  old  school-room  and  their  favorite  resort, — headed  by 
my  brother  Ralph, — now  "Uncle  Ralph," — with  a  saucy 
little  miss  of  four  summers  queening  it  grandly  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  all  in  high  glee. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  Pray,  good  people,  how  long  do  you 
expect  your  honeymoon  to  last?"  he  asked,  laughingly. 


284  BEECHIVOOD. 

"As  long  as  your  love  of  fun;  and  that  will  be  forever," 
I  said,  blushing  a  little  in  spite  of  my  matronhood. 

"Try  it  yourself,  Ralph,"  said  my  Ralph,  "and  you 
will  not  have  so  much  curiosity  upon  the  subject." 

"  Not  I !"  he  laughed.  "  When  I  am  at  home  [he  now 
lives  in  Philadelphia,  but  spends  a  month  with  us  every 
summer],  my  business  engrosses  all  of  my  time  ;  and  when 
I  am  here,  between  these  young  rogues,  and  Gertie's  and 
Charlie's,  I  hardly  .get  time  to  swallow  my  dinner.  What 
could  I  do  with  a  wife,  pray?  I  am  the  only  old  bachelor 
uncle  left;  and  Beechwood  would  not  be  Beech  wood  with- 
out an  'Uncle  Ralph.'" 

"Yes;  and  I  doubt  not,"  I  said,  half  teasingly,  "that 
some  young  lady  in  embryo  is  hidden  away  for  you,  as 
for  the  former  Uncle  Ralph,  until  you  are  ready  to  accept 
her  for  your  destiny.  You  old  bachelors  are  not  so  unim- 
pressible  as  you  would  have  the  world  imagine." 

"I  only  hope,"  said  Ralph  the  First,  with  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  if  that  is  so,  Ralph,  that  she  will  not 
prove  as  unmanageable  a  case  as  mine.  I  have  had  my 
hands  full,  I  assure  you." 

"I  believe  you,"  he  assented,  with  a  solemn  nod  of  his 
saucy  head.  "  My  own  former  experience  teaches  me  to 
sympathize  most  heartily  with  you." 

"Well,"  I  retorted,  "as  I  am  a  woman  and  entitled  to 
the  last  word,  I  can  only  say  that,  according  to  your  own 
statement,  you  are  both  in  subjection,  yet  my  hands  are  not 
half  full  yet.  So  much  for  woman's  superior  skill  in  the 
art  of  managing."  And  I  made  good  my  escape  before 
either  could  reply. 

I  found,  when  I  reached  my  room,  that  I  still  held  the 
old  loved  diary  in  my  hand ;  so  here,  upon  the  fly-leaves, 
I  make  this  brief  record,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years : 

We  were  married,  Ralph  and  I,  upon  the  6th  of  Decem- 


BEECHWOOD.  2gt 

ber  following  my  last  entry ;  and  Nettie  and  Charlie  were 
also  married  at  the  same  time.  We  lived  two  years  in  the 
village,  and  then  mamma  declared  she  could  no  longer 
live  alone  at  Beechwood.  Ralph  had  gone  to  Philadelphia, 
to  practice  law ;  Charlie  was  compelled  to  remain  in  the 
village,  to  build  up  his  practice ;  Ellis  and  Gertie  were  so 
pleasantly  situated  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to  disturb  them ; 
so  Ralph  and  I  came  back  to  the  old  homestead,  much  to 
my  joy  and  mamma's  evident  satisfaction.  4  And  so  Beech- 
wood,  beautiful  Beechwood,  which  has  been  my  home 
from  infancy,  is,  I  trust,  to  be  my  home  forever.  Here  I 
first  opened  my  eyes  upon  the  light  of  earth,  and  here  I 
hope  to  close  them  when  "life's  fitful  dream"  is  ended. 

Mamma,  dear,  precious  mamma,  is  as  good  and  patient 
as  ever ;  a  little  older,  perhaps,  but  if  anything  healthier 
and  happier  than  I  ever  saw  her.  We  often  tell  her — 
Gertie  and  I — that  she  is  younger  than  either  of  her 
daughters.  She  says  she  renews  her  youth  in  our  children ; 
and  if  that  is  so  she  certainly  ought  to  be  very  young,  for 
they  have  life  enough  to  supply  a  household. 

Ralph  and  Charlie,  our  two  brave  boys,  are  the  pride  of 
our  hearts,  so  full  of  noble  and  manly  impulses  ;  while  our 
little  Fannie  rules  the  house  in  her  own  pretty  way,  and  is 
the  pet  of  every  one, — even  bringing  a  twinkle  of  mirth 
into  her  papa's  eyes,  when  he  is  gravely  reproving  her  for 
some  petty  fault,  by  her  cunning  way  of  arguing  the  point. 
Her  Uncle  Ralph  and  she  are  choice  friends,  and  she  will 
fly  hatless  and  shoeless — if  she  chances  to  be  dressing  at 
the  time  of  his  approach — down  the  avenue  to  meet  him. 
He  says  he  cannot  but  feel  it  is  Kittie's  own  bright  little 
self  restored  to  us ;  and  indeed  her  sunny  head  and  laugh- 
ing eyes  are  not  unlike  those  of  our  lost  darling.  We  did 
think  some  of  calling  her  "Caryl,"  but  the  name  seems 
too  sacred  to  be  lightly  taken  on  our  lips ;  and  so  we  call 


286  BEECHWOOD. 

her  "Fannie,"  for  mamma,  and  keep  as  a  sacred  legacy 
the  name  and  memory  of  "Caryl  Carrington." 

Then  Gertie's  two  fair  daughters,  Fannie  and  Ella, — for 
Ellis's  mother  and  mamma, — of  ten  and  twelve  years  re- 
spectively, are  ones  to  make  any  parent's  heart  throb  with 
pride  and  joy,  and  are  especial  favorites  with  mamma ; 
while  Charlie  and  Nettie  are  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
bright  little  ones  unequaled  anywhere.  Ralph,  Charlie, 
and  Hal  are  manly,  brave,  and  fun-loving,  and  little  Made 
Mae,  just  three  years  old  to-morrow,  is  charming  as  a  fairy. 

Charlie  and  Nettie  are  very  happy.  They  have  a  beau- 
tiful home  in  the  village,  but,  in  pleasant  weather,  we  wel- 
come them  often  and  gladly  to  Beech  wood.  We  have  so 
many  Ralphs  now  that  we  are  compelled  always  to  say  of 
the  younger  ones,  "Ralph  Clifford,"  and  "Ralph  Cleve;" 
while  brother  Ralph  is  now,  unquestionably,  "Uncle 
Ralph,"  and  my  Ralph  is  content  to  be  simply  "  Ralph," 
or,  as  "Uncle  Ralph"  will  persist  in  calling  him,  "Ralph 
the  First." 

Ellis  is  beloved  and  respected  by  all ;  while  Gertie,  the 
same  sweet  Gertie  of  old,  is  the  idol  of  his  congregation. 

Poor  brother  Ralph,  true  to  his  lost  love,  will  never 
marry,  I  believe ;  but  he  is  happy  and  content ;  gives  us 
the  holidays  ever,  and  a  month  in  summer,  and  is  the  dar- 
ling of  us  all. 

Aunt  Martha,  hale  and  hearty  still,  only  a  little  rheu- 
matic, sits  much  of  her  time  by  the  fireside,  knitting, — 
she  has  so  many  little  feet  to  cover  now,  you  know, — and 
is  the  honored  guest  with  us  ever. 

Joseph  and  Lizzie,  years  ago,  were  married,  and  live 
in  a  little  cottage  Ralph  built  for  them,  just  back  of  the 
orchard.  They  have  no  children,  but  Lizzie,  faithful  and 
pretty  as  ever,  has  taken  care  of  mine  respectively,  and 
loves  them,  I  verily  believe,  as  though  they  were  her  own. 


BEECHWOOD. 


287 


Aunt  Katie,  poor  Aunt  Katie,  has  been  five  years  a 
widow.  Uncle  Harry's  death  was  a  severe  blow  to  her, 
but  she  wears  her  widowhood  meekly  and  with  Christian 
submission.  Since  Colonel  Ray's  death,  three  years  ago, 
she  has  removed  to  Pine  Grove,  his  old  place,  and  is  now 
our  near  neighbor.  Harry  is  a  manly  youth  of  nineteen ; 
and  Blanche  is  beautiful  and  lovely  as  a  dream.  They 
are  Aunt  Katie's  life. 

"And  Hal?"  Hal  still  lives  in  New  York,  married 
about  a  year  after  I  was,  to  Sallie.  They  come  occasion- 
ally to  Charlie's,  but  not  very  often ;  and  then,  of  course, 
we  all  unite  to  make  their  visit  as  pleasant  as  may  be. 
I  was  in  New  York,  with  Ralph,  last  spring,  and  Sallie 
called  upon  me  at  the  hotel  and  invited  us  to  dinner. 
We  went,  of  course.  They  live  in  elegant  style  on  a  fash- 
ionable square,  and  are  as  gay  and  fashionable  as  ever. 
But  Sallie  already  looks  faded  and  broken,  and,  Nettie 
tells  me,  is  very  languid  and  insipid,  except  when  in  a  gay 
crowd,  surrounded  by  gentlemen,  when  she  is  still  charm- 
ing. She  says  her  health  is  not  good,  and  that  she  seems 
nervous  and  petulant  much  of  the  time.  They  have  two 
delicate-looking  little  girls,  of  six  and  eight  years,  who 
are  brought  into  the  parlor  every  day  a  little  while  after 
dinner;  the  only  time,  I  believe,  their  mother  sees  them 
during  the  twenty-four  hours.  She  sent  one  of  them  back 
to  the  nursery,  to  have  her  dress  changed  immediately,  the 
day  we  were  there,  because  she  had  disarranged  it  a  little 
by  sitting  upon  the  floor  to  hunt  for  a  ring  she  had  lost ; 
and,  as  she  went  pouting  from  the  room,  Sallie  said  she 
thought  "  children  the  bore  of  one's  life." 

"Oh,  dear!"  I  answered,  quickly;  "they  are  the  sun- 
light of  our  home." 

"Sallie  does  not  see  ours  often  enough  to  know  what 
they  might  be,"  Hal  said,  a  little  bitterly. 


288  BEECHWOOD. 

I  thought  of  our  two  manly  boys,  and  our  bright  little 
Fannie,  at  home,  dressed  neatly  and  comfortably,  and 
allowed  to  live  in  the  fresh  air  as  much  as  possible ;  and  I 
thanked  God  inwardly  that  he  had  given  me  the  warm 
mother-love  so  fervently  for  my  little  ones,  and  taught  me 
so  well  how  to  care  for  their  health  and  comfort. 

I  looked  at  Hal,  as  he  and  Ralph  stood  talking  together, 
and  felt  pained  to  see  how  worn  and  old  he  looked.  Ralph 
looked,  as  they  stood  together  there,  at  least  ten  years  the 
younger.  "Oh,  how  mercifully  God  has  led  me!"  I 
thought ;  and  when  in  the  evening  we  returned  to  our  room, 
I  stood  by  his  side  as  he  sat  talking  with  me,  and,  pressing 
my  lips  upon  the  high,  white  forehead,  said,  half  tearfully, — 

"Oh,  Ralph!  Into  what  a  blessed  world  of  sunlight 
and  love  and  flowers  you  have  indeed  drawn  me  !  My 
dream,  after  all,  was  prophetic." 

And  so  life  passes  with  us.     If  it  is  not  all  sunshine,  we  ', 
meet  the  clouds  together,  and  they  pass  more  quickly.    And  • 
as  we  press  onward,  and  the  gray  hairs  come  to  mingle  with  ' 
the  dark  tresses  of  the  one  and  the  golden  threads  of  the 
.other,  and  the  shadows  of  life  lengthen  behind  us,  we  will 
.only  walk  more  closely  by  each  other's  side  till  we  reach 
the  end  of  the  journey,  if  haply  it  may  be  granted  us  to 
reach  it  together.     It  is  a  beautiful  hope,  one  of  which  we 
often  speak,  that  we  shall  be  permitted  to  take  our  last 
dreamless  rest  in  one  and  the  same  hour;   that  we  shall 
>pass  hand  in  hand  through  the  chill  waters,  and  together 
'enter  that  beautiful  land  "where  there  comes  to  the  heart 
'no  sorrow,  neither  shadow  of  parting." 

A  tear  drops  on  the  page  from  above  me,  and  a  deep, 
.manly,  loving  voice,  that   I   well   know,  says,  fervently, 


: 


i.,-.  tz.    r/.     i-.frVlj 
,   J   .     ^ 


